Ways and Means
by Mellow Penelo
Summary: The technological advances of her planet were renowned throughout the universe, Frieza himself was their greatest ally. For those reasons, a five year war with the Saiyans was not so arduous. So now, how exactly did Bulma end up married to their Prince?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** – Yes, I know you've seen this beginning before: Vegeta, being the rightful prince of his own planet, and Bulma getting thrown in the mix. However, I want to go about this my own way and add some twist and turns to that cliché. Along the way, I hope you are entertained and enjoy the story.

**.Disclaimer. **

--.....--

.Chapter One.

--.....--

Beige boots pounded against hard marble floors, but the sound was lost against the explosions outside. The light from the blast splashed the starch white halls a horrible yellow, casting dark shadows. Chunks of dust and debris shoot from the open windows. Shouts of both pain and excitement echoed in and out of the Imperial Palace.

The owner of the beige boots, a girl, ran around the corner and down another white hall. The girl stopped short of a plain painting. Quickly, she pulled a hidden lever and a small door opened. She scurried inside and was met with a dark stone tunnel. At top speed, she ran down the winding passageway.

The only light in the darkness was the blue glow of the radar on her forearm. All that was heard were the faint sounds of battle seeping in through the stonewalls and her dull, but frantic, footsteps on the earth. Her heavy panting seemed horribly loud as she strained to hear anything else. She quickly ran through her plan, thinking through any scenarios that might happen along the way.

She tried to anticipate all the obstacles on the way to the escape pods; but her mind kept frantically thinking up ways she could turn the battle around and chase the enemy off the plant. One questioned burned at the front of her mind, and no matter what she did, she couldn't push it back.

How could this have happened?

Tokoshimo-sei was heavily defended, invulnerable. It was revered by the entire universe as being impenetrable. No planet had ever been so arduous to land on. This was all due to heavy force fields, scanners, radars, check points and of course the most advanced weapons in the cosmos; which were all updated daily. So how had the enemy actually managed to invade them?!

As she turned a sharp corner, the earth shook beneath her and the walls swayed. Loose gravel began to fall from the ceiling and to the girl's horror; she could hear the boom of the tunnel caving it. Without looking back, she quickened her pace, faster than she thought possible, adrenaline pumping through her veins. In a panic she ran straight past a right turn.

She cursed, but was glad when she head the crashes stop and the last pebbles settle. She slowed and leaned against a wall, panting for breath and turned around to squint at the slopping wall of dirt.

'No way but forward.' She thought with a frowned as she began to run again, now she would have to go the long way to the docking bay.

The blue glow from her radar turned a flashing red. Her eyes widened as she looked to the small screen; the flashing screen showed an arrow pointing to her right along with a number.

Gasping, she leaped forward as the wall beside her exploded with a bright flash of red. Large chunks of stone flew in all directions and dust filled the air. The force of the blast sent the girl crashing to the floor, ripping the knee of her white pilot pants. The girl then pushed herself up and ran without looking back. She knew there was no way she could get caught.

She had to get out. She had too.

Tears of anger and guilt burned her blue eyes and threatened to slip onto her dust-covered cheeks. She was running away. Though, she knew that if she were caught, the enemy would use her against her own people. She felt like screaming in frustration, turning around and jumping right into the cold and bloody fray that was occurring outside the tunnel. But the words of her father echoed in her ears.

'_You are the only hope of our planet. Our power, our knowledge, our future, all lay with you.' _

She closed her eyes briefly, she was almost there! She could see the streams of light pour down the barred exit in the ceiling of the tunnel. She could see the snow gently fall from the opening and gather on the grimy stones. She could almost feel the snowflakes against her skin. She could even see the white snow outline the ladder that led out of the darkness.

"Princess Bulma, just the girl I was looking for."

She gasped in surprise and threw herself back into a defensive crouch. For a brief second her thoughts angrily turned to her radar, 'Why hadn't it detected him?!' She quickly pulled out her pistol and shot in the direction of the voice.

The beam of white shot out, hitting the stonewall as the target skillfully dodged. The wall was left with a gaping hole, light flooded in as bright snow tumbled into the passage. Bulma strained to see the darkness beyond the bright new supply of light, making sure to keep herself hidden in the darkness.

She frowned, knowing that her enemy had the advantage. Not only could he smell her, hear her, see her, he could probably _feel_ her. And since the enemy had somehow found a way to defeat the machine, she might has well off been quadriplegic

She raked her brain for what to do, anything. She eyed both the newly made exit and the original, her mind calculating the possibility of escape if she made a mad dash. Desperately, she tried to predict any sort of scenario were she would get out of this alive. Her eyes narrowed in frustration and anger as she came up with none. If only the machines would work!

_How_ had the enemy found a way around them?

A low rumbling chuckle echoed in the passage. Making Bulma's eyes search the tunnel in vain. She couldn't even make out a shadow, even with the light from the blast.

"You're angry. What? Mad your little machines have failed you? That Tokoshimo was finally invaded?"

He was taunting her? That damn race had to be the most egotistical beings in the universe! She lightly shook her head to clear her mind. She needed a plan!

"You damn Ningens are the weakest race in the universe without your machines." The enemy said calmly, though she could hear the disgust in his voice. She said nothing, though her mind reeled through a million comebacks. She needed to think of something! Anything!

Suddenly, she felt hot breath on her neck, her eyes widened and her heart pumped frantically.

"Hmph, I can practically _taste _your fear." The enemy said low and husky. She could almost feel the smirk on his face, his lips on her ear, the low rumble in his throat, the heat from his body.

Her fist tightened near her pocket, brushing against a flat circular disk. The prototype b7-4! But, she had yet to test it, so it _could_ possibly backfire. She had put it together last night in a fit of inspiration; she hadn't even shown it to her Father yet. She was going to that morning...

Anger and rage exploded through her as she thought of all that had happened to her life in a single day, and without hesitation or thought of the consequences, she reached for her invention.

Quickly pulling out the circular cartridge, she latched it to her pistol, raised its muzzle to the ceiling and pulled the trigger. Before she could blink, yellow and blue ki rapidly began to flow from all directions. Green ki was sucked from her body and red ki steadily flowed from behind her. The ki settled in a ball of white light above the weapon.

The enemy stepped back.

Bulma smirked, she could practically _taste _his surprise. Suddenly her blue eyes widened as the ball of energy shook, unstable, she could feel the power heat the pistol. Her arm began to shake as the energy refused to be contained and before she could react, the ball exploded sending a blinding flash of light and power.

Bulma let out a scream as she was thrown forward to the ground; the pistol was torn from her hand by the force of the ki. She hugged her arm to her chest in pain, feeling as if her very bones had shattered from the tremendous kickback. As if all that power had been sent straight at her. She closed her eyes in pain as she felt her head slowly sink into cool snow.

A few seconds later, her consciousness returned and she bolted upright to her feet to get her bearings. Her head spun, causing her to fall back onto the ladder behind her, but not noticing it. Bulma took a second to let her body return to normal. She heard nothing but a dull pounding ringing in her ears, her muscles felt like searing iron, her bones felt like shattered glass. She was hyperventilating and her heart hammered as if it was trying to burst through her chest.

Bulma looked up towards the way she had come from, and tried to peer into the pitch darkness but couldn't see past the bright light and snow that had rushed in from the latest explosion. The tunnel was literally blown in two.

She looked to see that she was under the original exit, the one she had been heading for. She began to turn around but she had difficulty moving her stone-like muscles. Groaning in pain and frustration, she did finally manage to pull herself up. She looked over her shoulder for her enemy and saw a pile of snow begin to stir. Panicked, she began to stiffly climb the ladder that lead to the top.

Adrenaline numbed her pain away as she heard a string of curses behind her. Abruptly, before she reached the top, it was blown away with a red ki blast causing Bulma to fall back on the ground.

Landing roughly on her back, she turned herself around so that she could see her enemy.

The blood in her veins turned to ice, ceasing all blood flow and locking her limbs in place. Her eyes widened in absolute terror, her heart ceased to beat, she could no longer hear the explosions or the cries of battle. Her tongue became thick in her mouth. For there before her stood none other than:

"Prince Vegeta..."

--.....--

Vegeta shook the horrible icy substance off him and found that his muscles ached. Growling in anger he ignored their cry and popped out of the thick snow like a daisy, a muscular, homicidal daisy.

With the sudden motion Vegeta found his sight doubled. He shook his head to clear his mind. Snow fell softly to the ground from atop of his head. He looked around annoyed, and saw the offending weapon that had brought on his stiffness.

'_That wasn't in the blue prints.'_ He thought angrily. He had studied those damn blue prints for the last six months, making sure he knew every machines weakness, every way to mislead it, make it completely otiose, to absolutely obliterate it. _And_ that was extremely difficult when these blasted Ningens made sure to upgrade them daily!

However, now that they had found one weakness that all the machines had, that the Ningens had no idea how to repair, the Saiyan race was finally able to invade them and end this five year war.

He had been in an ecstatic mood since they landed on the frozen planet; knowing he could now crush them like the vermin they were. He could rip their treacherous, dishonorable defenses away from them. Every force field, every scanner, every armor, every bomb, every weapon, every _gun_.

How he hated those

But he had known the weakness to every one of them; sure they were malfunctioning a bit to begin with, but he had single-handed annihilated those damn things. He had shot through the force fields, he had avoided the scanners, he had defended himself against every weapon, even their biological ones _and_ he had destroyed every gun he saw. Not one could touch him.

Yet, here was a machine that had actually managed to hurt him. Sure it didn't knock him out, hell, he didn't even have a scratch; but that wasn't the point. He loathed their damn machines, loathed. And the fact that one of them had caught him by surprise and actually managed to affect him, was just _bit_ infuriating.

The Ningens always had their tricks. They could do nothing but depend on their machines.

Vegeta shot out a quick blast of ki to destroy the gun, smirking when it did not rebound off it like it was a bouncy ball.

'_Stupid force fields.' _Vegeta thought, as he remembered that they once had.

He smirked again; his bloodlust was actually being feed by destroying the cursed tin cans. After all, it's not like the Ningens were any challenge, his poor men had probably already taken the city; only their grudge making the fight exciting.

The war really should have been an hour-long battle, instead of the five years; considering that the Saiyan race was biologically advance on every possible level. The Ningens had no physical prowess whatsoever, only their technology, and now that was nothing. The Ningens were done for.

Vegeta looked up to see a white fur trimmed cloak scurry up a ladder up to an exit. He growled and shot a red ki blast at the exit just above the girl. She fell to the ground with a cry and turned herself around to face him.

He saw her eyes widen in terror, the puffs of air had ceased to come from her mouth. The flushed color that had gathered in her cheeks from running, drained to leave them as white as the snow.

"Prince Vegeta..."

His sour mood slowly began to melt away as he was filled with excitement at the smell of her fear. He let a cold smirk slide carelessly on his face. He slowly walked towards her, his chin up high, his eyes on her; like a lion on the prowl.

Quick clouds of air began to flush out of her mouth as she began hyperventilating. Her eyes shifted quickly side to side, like a mouse looking for an escape. Her fingers began to twitch as if waiting for a command for action.

"Don't do anything stupid, Princess... who knows what the consequences might be." Vegeta warned, his voice low and mocking.

She shakily stood herself up staring him down in the eye. Her ivory hood fell back and the light caught her face.

He raised his eyebrow; she _was _pretty; beautiful even. Though few people outside the Ningen race had ever seen her, her beauty was known throughout the galaxy.

She stood in a beam of light that came through the hole he had made a few minutes ago. Causing her to look anything but mortal amongst the pitch darkness of the rest of the tunnel. Snow gently fell down around her; her curly aqua hair to glimmered in the light. The snow that landed on her skin blended for it was the same shade of light. Her blue eyes shimmered with the fear and determination of a cornered animal.

Suddenly she yelled and Vegeta looked on, not too surprised at the sudden outburst. She reached at the beige pouch on her hip and pulled out a familiar metal ball. The Princess hurled it at the space in the darkness between them.

He had no worries. The ball was a device that exploded and released a gas that was toxic to the Saiyan race. Something in his DNA did not fight the ... virus…or germ…thing…that the gas contained, or something like that. All he knew was that it could potentially kill him.

Well, not anymore, he and every one of his men had been injected with the cure, or gene…so that…

…

He knew he was once again invincible to the devious Ningens.

He easily brushed the once toxic blue gas away from his face, though now that he was actually conscious long enough, his nose registered a flowery smell.

He sensed a stray ki blast coming towards him from his right. He lifted an arm to deflect it, but more followed. Annoyed, he sent his own ki blast in the direction of the oncoming blast. With a loud boom, the ki blast stopped. He turned back to the Princess and found she was gone. He smiled a little, and let himself hope that she might put up a good chase.

He walked to where she once stood and flew out the exit.

--....--

Bulma ran through the snow, not leaving any footprints. Her breath was once again bright white puffs and she could hear the electrical explosions of machines nearby. The wind was biting at her face as she ran toward the escape ships, her cloak flapping wildly behind her.

She knew the damn Saiyans had found a way to make the G8-9 bomb as harmless as air freshener, compared to what it once was. The only useful thing it did now was release an enzyme that numbed the neurons that perceived smell, causing the Mitra cells to sit by idly, instead of sending information to the olfactory system in the brain. It even affected the vomeronasal organ that detected pheromones

Thus, it only left the Saiyans without a trace of the olfactory sense for a few hours.

Bulma let out a frustrated growl. How could the Saiyans have found out about the electric pulse that was necessary to make the machines malfunction? Let alone find out how to execute such a pulse? Even then, the machines had a backup program if such an event occurred, but the back up system seemed to have been destroyed by a virus...

Bulma shook it from her head and quickened her pace; she needed to get out of there. She ran as fast as she could and knew that the Saiyan was behind her following.

And not just any Saiyan, but the _Prince_ of Saiyans.

Her heart jumped into her throat at the very thought. How had he cornered her in the secret tunnels? Only the royal family and their most trusted guards and advisors knew about them! Why- how?! Everything was going wrong! None of this was suppose to happen!

There was no way she could get to the ships on foot; she needed to find a hovercyle. She began to run toward the nearby battle. She was sure to find one close by, hopefully in working condition.

Besides, if she was lucky, that Prince would jump into the battle. He was infamous for his blind bloodlust. _'He's a mindless Saiyan after all.' _She thought bitterly.

The smell of blood and smoke stained the normally crisp air. She ran through the bare trees, gilding over the icy snow. The once eternally white forest was charred and burned in some places from misfired blast. The pure snow was stained a horrible black. There were no aquila birds singing, only the sound of men screaming in agony or joy.

Bulma ran to the edge of the battle, where the snow was dyed red. The Saiyans had already wiped through this part of the land, leaving only bodies of flesh and metal. Bulma glanced at her scanner knowing it could still detected Ningen life forms; her eyes teared up when the screen was blank. Pressing a button, the screen changed to detect heat. Bulma extended her arm towards the battlefield and ran in blindly.

She hugged her stomach with one arm as the stench of blood hit her. There were limbs thrown about, organs torn and left to stain the snow. Her eyes teared up again and they stayed glued to the screen. She jumped and darted over bodies, desperately trying not to step on anything but white snow. She failed.

The scanner warmed up and an arrow appeared, pointing east. She followed and soon found a dirty white hovercyle with minimal damage lying on its side and hurriedly picked it up. It was smoking and she quickly opened a metal door at the base. Pulling a few wires and pressing a few buttons, Bulma then pulled a disk from her beige pouch and inserted it into a slot and slammed the door shut. Bulma set the program for repairs.

It rose off the ground and she dove on. A force field shot around her, encasing her in an invisible protective egg. Blue and yellow letters, numbers, graph, radars and maps flew around her, Bulma felt like crying in anger, knowing they were all useless now.

Ironically, the only thing of value was the primitive mirror that had been tape on by the previous recipient. For in that mirror was the reflection of the Saiyan flying behind her

Bulma was going to scream in anger. She was going to get away from him if it was the last thing she did.

Bulma could see the docking bay. It was so close! She needed to out run him, and she knew there was a possibility. That's what this cycle was for! It was made for this kind of combat in space; it could match and beat an average Saiyan.

But this was the Prince.

Not only was it a slightly older model (three months), the fuel was low, it was beat up, and it was malfunctioning.

And the Prince of Vegeta-sei was after her.

"No!" Bulma shouted out loud. She needed to get away! She couldn't lose hope. She _was_ the planet's hope, all the secrets, all the information, all the power of her family, history of her planet, people, and machines laid with her. She would escape and she would make sure every Saiyan would be wiped from the universe.

Bulma willed the cycle to go faster, but soon the Saiyan was right beside her. Smirking at her. Bulma took a deep and angry breath; she had to think of something. She needed a plan, for the sake of her planet.

But before Bulma could even scream, the Saiyan raised a finger and shot a thin beam of ki at the engine. The engine exploded behind her and she was flung to the ground. Bulma let out a scream, more of anger then of fear, as she was reminded, yet again, that the force fields didn't work. Not only that, he had shot at the one place that would take the cycle beyond any hope of repair! How had he known?!

She was falling fast to ground, and her mind still searched for something to do. The ground was getting closer and closer and Bulma was being filled with the dread that she had failed.

She was suddenly jerked back by her white cloak, ten feet before her face hit the cold snow. She was suspended by her cloak for a few seconds before she reached up and squeezed the clasp, causing her fall straight to the ground. She heard cruel laughter as she hit the ground, leaving a Bulma-shaped-indent in the snow.

Not wasting anytime, Bulma jumped up and ran toward the docking bay. She realized that the blast from the cycle had actually propelled her forward leaving her only 100 yards away from her destination. Tears of relief and hope filled her eyes, her legs burnt, her lungs felt like they would explode, her heart felt like it had gone into cardiac arrest hours ago, and every nerve of her body told her that she wouldn't live to enjoy her escape.

She ran faster.

Bulma ran towards the metal door, she just hoped it would open, that the pulse hadn't fried the circuits. She decided not to risk it because she could hear the Saiyan behind her. So reaching into her beige pouch she threw a small, but powerful, bomb straight at the middle of the door. Hitting her target she ran in through the smoke

For the third time that day, her eyes widened in unfathomable horror. The blood in her veins turned to black ice, and began to pound in her head as if her body could not stand one more shock. Her heart pounded against her rib cage so fast it felt like one steady beat. She felt like she had just swallowed her tongue. Her entire body went numb.

The room before her was filled with Saiyans. Some coming out of ships, some loading up machinery, some giving orders, others obeying and some going through the computers for information. It seemed as if there was a lot of commotion, but now that she had run in through a loud explosion, into the middle of the room, in plain sight of more than 500 Saiyans, all eyes were on her.

Bulma felt like crying, like collapsing right then and there and sobbing for her Father. She felt like every shred of hope had been viscously ripped from her very soul. From the start her escape plan had been doomed. With the Saiyans before her, she realized how planned, how accomplished, how brilliantly conceived the invasion had been; and that her Ningens didn't stand a chance.

She had failed.

Her mind, for the first time in her life, seemed to go numb and stopped thinking. She did not jump to find a plan, she did not look for a solution, she did not think of a machine that could possibly help her. She was not capable in that moment of anything but raw emotion, of wretched despair and sorrow.

She had run right into the arms of the enemy.

Numbly and without realizing it, she slowly began stepping away from the Saiyans before her. Bulma didn't even register any of the facial expression that were given to her, the primitive armor, the coarse spiky hair, or the notorious tail.

Suddenly, Bulma felt herself back it a hard surface, a warm one. She numbly turned around and fell back in dull shock, her legs no longer having the will to carry her. Her vision slowly began to blur as her eyes slowly traveled up the form before her. As she got closer to the face of the being, her vision blurred and darkened.

Then she saw an increasingly familiar cold smirk.

With a jolt her vision clear, her body felt like hot pins and needles, and her chest was filled with volcanic emotion. The numbness and weariness was gone from her as if she had been suddenly drenched with scalding water, electrified by lightning and burned by fire. Her mind raced with accusations, murderous plans, and absolute rage.

Before her stood Vegeta, Prince of Vegeta-sei, Prince of all Saiyans.

He was the personification of everything she loathed: selfishness, arrogance, carnage, chaos, darkness, savagery. He had destroyed her inventions and her machines. He had stained her snow, and her home. Her body quaked with hatred.

He was a Saiyan.

Her heart sped up, her unimaginable fury being the last straw. Her body was pushed past its limits long ago and refused to hold her up anymore. Her emotions were flared up, but her body refused to support them. Her limbs truly felt like lead and her blood felt like acid. She fought for consciousness, but her body felt death was within sight if it obeyed her.

Bulma fell into oblivion, with a royal smirk engraved into her vision.

--.....0.0.--

.To Be Continued.

--.....0.0.--

**A/N** – There you go. I started this a long time ago. I wasn't going to post this till I finished the whole story, but my profile was so empty, I had to post something. I'm _nowhere_ near finishing either, and before I lose any more inspiration, I thought some reviews might liven me up

I live off your reviews. Helpful criticism will be absolutely loved and potentially worshiped.

Oh, by the way if you didn't notice, Bulma's planet is not earth, despite the natives still being referred to as Ningens. It is Tokoshimo-sei, which means, _Endless Frost_.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** – Hello! Thanks to everyone for the reviews, they were very much appreciated! Though, they did make me rather nervous, I just hope I can keep up the quality.

Just to warn you, it's a long one.

**.Disclaimer. **

--.....--

.Chapter Two.

--.....--

The first thing Bulma noticed was that her cheek was damp. Her entire body ached and she was lying down in a very uncomfortable position. As if someone just dropped her and she had slept like that. She wearily opened her eyes and saw nothing but darkness. She kept her ear against the cold and damp floor and listened.

'There.' She thought accusingly; she could hear the gust of jets and the hum of engines. Even when she was groggy, her mind was always reeling, looking for answers.

Those engines meant she was on a ship. Bulma pulled herself up from the awkward position, staring out into the darkness to help her eyes adjust. She stretched herself out while she waited; sleep still trying to cling to her mind. She leaned her back against the metal wall, her legs outstretched before her.

Suddenly her mind switched on, memories, feelings and events flashed before her mind's eye, filling her being. Bulma immediately felt anger above all else, she let out a scream of frustration.

Breathing heavily, she took in her surroundings. She sat in a dark cell, most likely on a Saiyan ship. She could fee the grime through her white gloves (though she doubted they were still white). The cell smelled musty and foul, like the Saiyans often left their prisoners to rot there. They probably do, Bulma sneered in disgust. It was dank too.

"Why the hell is it dank?!" Bulma shouted angrily, needless to say, she was in a particularly foul mood and would have kicked a puppy if given the chance. "Damn Saiyans, can't even fix a leak on their own ship. Psh, they probably stole it, the mindless baboons. Cursed monkeys, filthy barbarians-" Bulma continued to mutter darkly for the next few minutes.

Finally her eyes got used to the darkness. Simple bars of complete black stood out in the dark, letting her know she was in one of the lower security cells. At her right, a milky white stood out. Melon sized blobs, surrounded by curved sticks: bones. She briefly wondered how many had rotted away in that cell, but the thought was blotted away as death reminded her of something else. She frowned, her anger subsiding, along with her curses. For one thing still lingered in her mind, and would never leave her. Never.

She failed.

She had been captured. She was on a Saiyan ship, to who knows where. She didn't know if her friends and family were okay, if her people had been enslaved, or even if her planet had been destroyed. She had fought, she had run. Her body had been running on pure adrenaline for almost an entire day. Bulma had done everything in her power to fight the damn Saiyans, to do the one thing that was asked of her: to get away from them.

And it wasn't enough.

Tears began to gather in her eyes. How did this happen? How did she ended up in this situation? Were the last hours of her memory even real? Just this morning, she had been discussing wedding plans with Yamcha.

-_-.....-_-

The sky for once was a clear blue, instead of the cloudy grey of snow filled clouds. The air was crisp and clean. A man with wild black hair sat cross-legged with an aqua haired girl perched on his lap. Both were dressed warmly, for they were on Tokoshimo-sei. The planet of eternal winter. Of course, it wasn't really. The planet in fact had four seasons, but it sounded neat, so the natives encouraged it.

And it was a very believable rumor because the land was perpetually covered in a blanket of icy powder, and it snowed almost every other day. However, that did not mean that the land was lifeless; quit the contrary, the land was bursting with it.

Birds of many colors flew through the air, rainbow fish swam through the clear waters, and crimson and indigo flowers thrived, bursting out of the snow like fireworks frozen in time. For it was spring, the only season that the planet was ever colorful; and it was the perfect time for a wedding.

"Orchids or amaryllis?" Bulma asked, holding out the two said flowers before her. She sat in Yamcha's lap, who sat cross-legged. This of course was a pivotal decision, one that could not be taken lightly by a bride. It could make or break the entire day.

"I like amaryllis." Yamcha murmured against her neck, his arms wrapped around her waist. Bulma studied the blood red flower.

"Are you sure? I like the orchids." Bulma said tilting her head to the side, unwittingly giving Yamcha better access. Yamcha pulled her closer to his chest.

"Okay then, the orchids." Yamcha said, though his reply was a bit muffled against her skin.

"Yamcha help me out here, I gotta decide by today." Bulma said, unable to keep a serious tone with his lips on her skin. "They're both rather beautiful..." She looked over her shoulder; Yamcha drew his head back so he could look at her face.

"Not as beautiful as you." Yamcha said, making his voice husky and looking into her eyes. She began to laugh.

"I can't believe I ever fell for that cheesy line." Bulma teased as she threw her head back over his shoulder, Yamcha took the opportunity to kiss her collarbone.

"I can't believe I seriously used that." Yamcha said with a sheepish grin, shaking his head a bit as he remembered their earlier meetings. "I was so nervous."

"I know! It was the cutest thing ever, you stuttered and everything!" Bulma said, smiling fondly, her eyes glowing.

"Women used to terrify me." Yamcha admitted, his face flushing a little. He buried his face in her neck.

"We were both young and naive, I dazzled you with my beauty and intelligence, I was taken by your…" What could describe Yamcha's dorky nervousness and sputtering clumsiness? "Charm." Bulma decided with a huge grin.

She dropped the flowers and reached over her head to rake her fingers through his hair. Yamcha began to once again to continue his assault on her neck.

"Sorry to disrupt you two lovebirds," said a playful voice. Bulma turned and disentangled herself from her aficionado to stand up and greet the newcomer. Leaving Yamcha in the same exact position for a second, with a dry and disappointed look on his face. Sighing, he looked over his shoulder to see who had intruded.

"Marron." Yamcha stated, seeing a tall and ditzy girl. She was his fiancé's look-alike (if any such situation were to need one). Though, you would just have to see Bulma up close to spot that they actually had no real resemblance. The only similarity was their blue hair and eyes, a rarity on their planet.

His eyes lazily rolled over her body head to toe. However, his Bulma's eyes were cunning, intelligent and glowing. Bulma's hair _was_ silk, it was like water and glimmered like fine silver. Marron…simply couldn't compare.

"What's up?" Bulma asked smiling, not noticing Yamcha's roaming eyes.

"Your Pop requests your brilliant mind down in the main Control Room." Marron said crossing her arms.

"Alright. I'll be down in a minute." Bulma said causally. He probably just wanted her to take a look at a new update or something along those lines. One of Tokoshimo's most well kept secrets was that their Princess was a mental force to be reckoned with.

Marron grinned, "Don't take _too_ long." She teased, eyeing the pair warily.

Once she left the room, Yamcha let out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

"I don't get _why_ you don't like her!" Bulma said raising her voice a bit, but smiling all the same.

"She's annoying." Yamcha said plainly. He then promptly fell back eagle-style onto the white-peppered-bear-skin rug and stretched his limbs.

Bulma thought for a moment, that was true. Marron could be _so_ ditzy sometimes that Bulma just wanted to slap her. Then she sometimes said the most careless thing, that Bulma would have down right berated anyone else if _they_ had said it. But Bulma could never get really mad at anything Marron said or did; because, come one, it was Marron. She didn't really know what she was saying.

Not to mention the girl was Bulma's longest companion, a sister really. Being in her position didn't give her the chance to make many friends her age. And because of that:

"She's one of my best friends. We grew up together. Though," Bulma walked over to him and leaned over his head. "I'm glad you at least _try_ to hide your distaste."

"I don't think she would get a clue if I wrote it on her forehead." Yamcha said dryly, reaching over his head to wrap his arms around her legs.

"Be nice! She's actually really smart." Bulma defend against her friend's reputation. That was another extremely well kept secret, that few on the planet even knew about. And it was completely true; what Marron may have lacked in common sense she made up for in book smarts.

"If you say so." Yamcha said with a skeptical tone, Bulma rolled her eyes, but the effect was lost with her smile. She could never stop smiling with him. She could have been talking about an orphanage that burnt down and all the orphans had to live in the snowy woods, and she would have been smiling! She bent down and kissed the Prince on his nose. Oh well, she really didn't have a problem with that.

"I'll see you a little later." Bulma said, hovering just above him. He let go of her legs a bit reluctantly.

"I'll be in the dinning hall." He said, still lying on the ground.

"You're such a guy." Bulma said shaking her head, and _smiling._ She walked out, stopping at the huge and heavy Cheery wood door, "Make your mind up about the flowers!" Then was already down the hall.

Yamcha pulled himself up to a sitting position and grabbed the two flowers in each hand. Orchids or Amaryllis? It truly didn't matter to him.

"I wish she would just decide."

--.....--

Bulma jogged up to her friend; her suede beige boots clicking dully on the carpet that laid in the center of the hall. Her look alike turned and grinned.

"Took you long enough." Marron said with a knowing grin. Bulma grinned back "So, how goes the wedding plans?"

"Yamcha's no help, I'm always just about to decide on something, and then he distracts me, making me lose focus." Bulma said rolling her eyes but smiling. She couldn't stop! "So he has to choose flowers, I even narrowed it down for him."

"Well, things like that don't matter in the long run, anyway." Marron said with a shrug.

Bulma shrugged, completely disagreeing. The details were everything! Though, this was Marron, and Bulma didn't take half the things she said seriously.

Bulma suddenly broke into a little dance right there in the hall. "I'm getting married!" Bulma squealed for the 78th time that day

Marron laughed.

"You still haven't told me who _I'm_ going down the aisle with." She asked, Marron was the maid of honor after all.

"Yamcha chose Tien, a good friend of ours. You remember him? When Yamcha first came to our planet?" Bulma asked.

"Three eyes?" Marron asked, pointing to her forehead with a grimace.

"That's the one." Bulma said with a big grin, crossing her hands behind her head as she walked.

"Oh, joy." Marron murmured, with fake enthusiasm "Just kidding" she added as they headed down a wide marble staircase, the red carpet continued.

"Why are there no elevators on this floor?" Marron asked, slightly annoyed as her hand grazing the wide polished rail.

"It's the oldest side of the castle. My father couldn't bare to cut into the fine marble here." Bulma informed, looking at the grand hall "My great Grandfather built this side." Bulma said pointing to a large portrait that was just above the descending stairs.

"Of course, times 'great' by 36." Bulma added, then quickly sent Marron a sly smirk. "But if you want to go faster, I know a way." She then promptly skipped onto the wide banister and slide down.

"Race you!" Bulma called out without looking back, she then curled down a bit to make herself more aerodynamic.

"Bulma!" Marron called after her hopelessly, and began to jog down the stairs her black boots padding. She then saw her friend land on her feet at the end of the long banister and jump into a dash down the hall.

Marron rolled her eyes, and began to walk the rest of the way down the stairs.

--.....--

Bulma ran down the stairs and past the elevators. The last time she had used them, she had lost against Yamcha. She turned corners and ran down stairs, dodging workers, guards, and furniture; knowing the castle like she knew the back of Yamcha's hand.

She ran down a glass tunnel that went through an underground river, and passed into a different building. Suddenly her surroundings changed from an imperial traditional and primordial castle to a metallic, advance facility, complete with cameras, buttons, lights, screens, security, computers and soda machines.

This was the innovative, automated, business, push-me-button side of the castle. The side her great grandfather's grandfather had built. And every one in her family had upgraded since. It was like one of the space colonies up in the cosmos. Better of course. Tokoshimo-sei _was_ the most advanced planet in the universe.

Bulma turned into a hall and passed various metal doors, the color scheme though out the facility was metallic white, blue and grey. The floor was covered with metal tiles and the gray metal walls seemed to float between long lines of white light. On the walls were white numbers and arrows, showing directions and locations. By each door was a blue pad, number panels and other such things for security. Round-black-half-spheres poked out of the ceiling strategically put to see everything, from every prospective.

Bulma jogged and finally found the lab she was looking for. She stood before a blue pad, the size of an average computer screen and pressed her palm to it. The computer scanned it and a square panel slid open at eye level and, without delay, it scanned her iris. Bulma passed the scan and the computer sent a map straight into her iris.

With a hiss the door opened to revel a dark room that seemed to go on forever, it had neither ceiling nor floor, just an abyss. Bulma confidently stepped out to place her foot on air and began to jog, following the map in her mind. The moment she set foot on the air, a hexagon of light appeared, supporting her and scanning her body as she ran. Bulma reached a specific side of the hexagon and stepped once again onto air and another appeared. This process proceeded till the final hexagon produced a door.

It opened for her and Bulma stepped into a platform looking over largely dark silver room; large panels of the metal lining the walls and floor. It was enormous. It was the largest lab in the compound. There was an enormous flat screen that took up the whole wall in front of her, at least 20 feet high. It was filled with over a dozen other screens that were organized on all sides surrounding a great square in the center.

Beside Bulma was a set of buttons and she punched in a quick code. A circular metal tile rose up from a storing place and met level with her feet. Bulma hoped on and it proceeded to take her to her destination.

Bulma hovered over the grand number of people in the room. Everyone wore metal bracers on their forearms, metal caps on their fingers and ear pieces with a connected telecomunicators that hovered before their mouth. There were rows of computers, floating metal frames that contained a screen of light, various panels of buttons, numbers and controls.

Bulma hovered over to a raised hexagon platform that stood in the middle of the room. Her Father stood there, surrounded by the Captains and Generals. Each Captain stood before their respective screens, shifting through information reported to their Generals and their King.

Bulma could see her Father's blue gray brows knitted in concentration. She gingerly stepped off the metal disk and onto the white platform. The moment she stepped onto it, she almost stepped back. The tension was thick, making the air around her grave. They all saluted her.

"What's wrong?" Bulma asked immediately, looking at the people before her. Marron hadn't mentioned anything.

"The force fields are fazing in and out of power." A man with a spike of red hair said, straight to the point. He wore a black headset to give out commands and receive information. Sixteen, the General of Defense. He turned to one of the screens before him and using the metal caps on his fingers pulled up another screen of information.

"How long?" Bulma asked, her voice serious and businesslike. She pulled some gloves like his on, "Where?"

"About 15 minutes, and on all sides of the planet." He answered. "The fuel supply has been checked three times and the program is being review by every member of my team. Mechanics at every AD-Station have reported that nothing is physically wrong with any of the machines." He finished, referring to large-villages-sized-colonies that revolved around the planet.

Each AD-Station carried an internal electrical outputter, a machine that produced a force field, the AD Field. With the numerous AD-Stations surrounding the planet they made the AD Field into a giant spherical barrier that encompassed the entire planet. Each Station was responsible for their own section of the AD Field.

Bulma nodded, immediately running through possible reasons why the AD Field wasn't working.

"The weapons are in working order and every soldier has been ordered to be on guard, though only down to the majors have been informed of the full situation." A girl with short blonde hair said. Around her waist, legs, and shoulders were various holsters that held numerous artillery. Eighteen, the General of Offense. "All weapons are charged and ready for fire."

Before Bulma could open her mouth, a young women yelled.

"I've found something!" She pushed some buttons on the floating metal bars before her and her discovery blew up to the enormous screen, slap dab in the middle.

There was a stunned silence at what was seen. It showed the programming to the AD Field visibly and slowly deteriorating.

Bulma exchanged a look with her Father and the two Androids. She stepped up to the screen pulling the information to the smaller screen before her. Her Father and Sixteen did the same to their own screen. They began hurriedly shifting through solutions to cure the problem.

"What Station is this?" Bulma asked quickly, her voice full of calculating authority.

"Station B-9." Sixteen informed. "It's too late to isolate it, it has already spread to the other Stations." While his voice was calm and monotone, his worry was in his eyes.

"Its already spread to the other fields? That doesn't make sense, the program doesn't work that way." Bulma said her eyes looking over the information in concern.

Eighteen frowned. They may have to resort to the back up force field, which would drain the power from their weapons and weaken their offence.

Before anyone could fine a solution, a wave of power was felt through the room, like a gust of wind. It shocked the Androids into stillness and sizzled through the machines. The white lights went out and all screens turned red, shortly before disappearing, the main one revealed a grand pillar of light behind it. The pillar was a neon blue glow, information swirling in it like water, but it dimmed to a dull grey. There was a shocked horrific silence in the dim room. No one moved and no one breathed.

Within in a few seconds the system switched onto its back up mode, the screens flashed on and the pillar returned back to its natural neon blue, but was hidden again behind the enormous screen. But now all screens were flashing red, and the lights over head were weaker. Workers confirmed that simple commands were not being obeyed, while others could no longer log into the main system.

Bulma and her Father reached over to the two frozen Androids. Bulma pulled down Eighteen's scarf to open a panel on her neck and switched on a few buttons. Her Father did the same to Sixteen. Both Androids flashed their blue eyes and shook themselves as if to get the oil flowing.

Bulma's Father turned to the machines in front of him, his hands running over screens of light, pulling desperately at information and sorting through code and graphs. The screen blurred and fizzled, the back up power supply not performing properly.

"A Virus…" Bulma heard her Father whisper under his breath. That word alone stuck fear into all that heard it. "Alarm the troops that the force fields are down!" A soon as her Father finished the sentence the planet shook with a grand force.

Sixteen grabbed Bulma's waist to keep her from falling off the platform. "Visual! Report!" He yelled out.

"All space cameras are fried!" someone yelled back

"Eastern cameras are offline!"

"There are no signals from the Stations!"

"Nothing from the check points!"

"Damn it! Is anything online?!" Eighteen yelled out frustrated, already having alerted her troops.

"General!!" A man yelled, he clicked a few buttons and blurry static images appeared to replace the main flashing red screen.

A fleet of Saiyan Ships

---.....--

The door slide open with a loud swoosh and the sudden light blinded Bulma. She quickly raised her forearm to shield her eyes, shaking her memories away. Bulma pushed herself to her feet, her muscles more cooperative after stretching. She looked up to see the silhouette of a Saiyan, and she glared at him with scorching hatred, her memories fresh and raw.

He opened the cell door "Come on." He ordered gruffly. Bulma considered sitting down just to spite him, but knew she didn't want to be in the _dank_ cell any longer; beside he might carry her.

Eww.

Bulma exited the cell with all the dignity she could muster, her chin held up high looking down at the Saiyan with a sneer as she passed him. She walked out the door to see that she was now flanked by two new Saiyans. Bulma didn't bother to hide her distaste at their presence.

Though her muscles were still weary she walked down the dark hall way as if walking to her coronation. She could feel the Saiyan's eyes on her and she briefly wondered how she looked. Sneaking a peak, she saw that the bottom of her boots were stained a rusty scarlet, her pants were ripped at the knees, reveling scraped flesh, her once white blouse was now a horrible tan color, and the palms of her gloves were indeed brown.

Bulma's eye twitched, she _hated_ being dirty. Blinking away her self-absorbed thoughts, Bulma began to go through the possible reasons she was still alive, and where exactly they were taking her. She frowned realizing, that she was probably a negotiation hostage, or maybe they knew…

No, they couldn't know.

Her thoughts drifted to plans of escape, but she had nothing but her engagement necklace hidden under her shirt (she was glad she still had it). She was defenseless and the Saiyans beside her could kill her with literally one finger. Bulma frowned and was suddenly angered at the thought of their power.

They had to be one of the strongest races in the universe, and they were also the most asinine. There was nothing she hated more than brainless power. They were absolute barbarians with no sense of culture. And their bloodlust! They had enjoyed the war-

Bulma paused her thought process; she could go on forever ranting about the Saiyans. She needed a plan. Well, the Saiyans _were_ incredibly dim, perhaps she could talk her way out….

"So, what's your name?" Bulma started suddenly turning to the man on her left, speaking civilly to a Saiyan for the first time in seven years. The Saiyan seemed to be taken by complete surprise and turned and gave her a stupid look as if processing what she said.

"You know, you get one when your born," Bulma began mockingly before she could stop herself, she went on "people tend to refer to you as such, and sometimes, someone else can have the same one as you-" Bulma stopped herself, she would ruin her own plan if she got him mad "But I digress, I'm Bulma." She said hurriedly and politely.

The Saiyan glared at her and turned away, looking forward.

Aww, I confused him, She thought with a cooing tone. Dumbass, her mind hissed. She promptly ignored him and turned to the one on her right.

"How 'bout you?" Bulma asked, he said nothing.

"Manners anyone." Bulma muttered annoyed that her plan wasn't working "Not enough brain cells to start a conversation." She added under her breath

Both Saiyans stopped walking. Bulma turned to her right, then her left to see their muscles clenched, restrained. Guess they heard me. Bulma was unaffected, and continued to walk. She was a Princess, and they were low-class soldiers, they couldn't touch her.

Okay onto Plan B. Plan A was obviously not working. She felt the two Saiyans walk in stride with her again. Bulma was about to fall down and demand to be taken to the infirmary when the Saiyans stopped. Bulma looked to see that she was in front of a huge door; one Saiyan pressed a touch pad and the door opened.

Bulma stood still in front of the door as the two Saiyans walked in. She stood, debating whether to go in. Then the third Saiyan, which she had forgotten about, pushed her in. Bulma hopped into the room with a surprise yelp.

She stood in the control room and before her were two very important Saiyans. Bulma glared angrily, avoiding the smirk of the younger one. She knew if she caught it, well, let's just say she couldn't be held accountable for her actions. She took deep breaths and held herself proudly. The room was filled with many more Saiyans, one stood out with his goofy smile. She glared at him too. Just because he was born.

But her heart leapt when she spotted an intelligent white lizard. Bulma felt like crying for joy and doing a little dance when she caught his cool eyes. She was not the only brain among a barrel of monkeys. She was _not_ the only one that could remember what she ate this morning.

For there stood Frieza.

The one that had been trying diligently to pursued the cursed Saiyans from starting the war in the first place. The go between the two planets before the war started. He was the one that kept the damn Saiyans in check those two tense years before the war. He had warned her Father about the Saiyans intensions. If it wasn't for him, her planet would have been destroyed in the first battle, but they had been prepared.

Bulma's body flooded with confidence and assurance at the sight of him; he wouldn't let anything happen to her. He would make sure that the Saiyans did not kill her people, that her family would be safe. After all Tokoshimo was one of his best alleys, providing the most advanced technology for his empire.

He nodded to her and smiled sadly.

Bulma _knew_ he had tried to prevent the Saiyans from invading, and if he had known of their plans, he would have stopped them, or warned her Father.

"Princess Bulma," The king of Vegeta-sei drawled, "How you've grown, you look like your mother."

Bulma's eyes widened in sudden shock at the mention of her mother and her throat clenched in anger. For a brief period of time Vegeta-sei and Tokoshimo had been close allies, but the Saiyans had been the cause of her Mother's death. How dare that bastard even mention her?!

"It pains me to see your family lineage fall, I was once good friends with you Father."

Bulma was going to spontaneously combust with rage.

He went on and Bulma could no longer concentrate on what he was saying, too busy straining to control her temper and breathe properly. How dare he try to act so familiar with her?! After all he and his blasted race had done, after betraying their trust. Was he just mocking her? But before she knew what was going on, she was ushered out by female Saiyans. Bulma threw one last look at Frieza.

--.....--

To Bulma's immense confusion, she was taken to a massive landing bay. Saiyans were crawling all over the place like vermin, receiving and sending out information. Some were entering smaller transport ships and those ships were soon diploid out. She realized that she was simply on a space station, not a battle ship.

That didn't make any sense… How long was she out in that dank cell?

When were the negotiations to take place? The standard procedure was a battle ship and a transportation ship from both parties. Both battle ships would be honed in on each other, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Both would send a transport ship to meet in the middle. The location was usually between the two planets. So what the hell was she doing on a Saiyan space station?

The only possible reason was if you were going to Vegeta-sei.

Bulma's entire chest constricted. A huge weight of panic pressed on her lungs, taking the very breath from her. Her mind reeled for possible reasons to go to the forsaken planet, any logical explanation for her situation, anything. She came up with nothing, cursing herself for not listening to that ape King.

The bulky Saiyan women surrounded her, boxing her in and guiding her to a transport ship. Bulma tried to think up some way to stop what was happening, to keep her from boarding the ship. Without any weapons, Bulma could only try to think of how she could give them the slip. She was sure she could try something to outsmart them, but it seemed like every Saiyan was watching her.

And it wasn't the admiring gaze she was used to from her own people, not even close. Some gave her the curiosity and disgust one gets when they look at a bug the have deliberately stepped on. Others sent her loathsome glares. Though, Bulma didn't pick up on the masked look of awe that a few of the younger Saiyan held, each to various degrees.

Rather, she was distracted at the technology in the ship. She momentarily forgot her plans of escape. It wasn't as old and dated as she expected. Actually, she recognized a few of the communications and transmitters as models she herself had updated less then six-months ago. Her eyes narrowed in suspicious confusion, mixed with barely suppressed horror. What gives?!

Her guides ushered her by a control unit and Bulma saw that the technician was using an advanced radar. The radar not only picked up on incoming ships, but the unique electromagnetic signal that it gave out. Which not only allowed instant recognition of the planet and species to which it belonged to, but its status and whether it was a battle ship or a commercial ship.

It was definitely not something the Saiyans had been given before the war. Bulma was once again filled with frustrated anger. Where had they gotten that technology?! There was not even the slightest chance that they themselves had invented it. No, that was down right laughable, the thought almost extinguishing Bulma's ire.

Before Bulma could even think of an explanation, she was at her destination. It was the type of ship she would use on a repair trip up to the AD-Stations: small, quick and strictly business. The Saiyan women entered before her, a clear and deliberate sign of disrespect to Bulma's station. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, not that it particularly mattered, but it was the principle.

She stepped in and the door closed right behind her, the ship humming to life before Bulma could even find a seat. She saw the last one in the back. The trip was surprisingly much shorter then she expected.

Her body felt the pressure of entering the atmosphere and Bulma leaned into her seat. There was no window next to her and she couldn't see past the spiky mane of the Saiyan seated in front of her. So she was denied the view of the coming planet. Not that she particularly wanted to see the little mud ball.

They soon landed and the Saiyans exited first, once again disregarding her social status. Whatever. She had much more important things to worry about. However, what held her attention right now was the open door. The air outside waved against the controlled atmosphere inside the ship. She was startled at how odd her limbs felt, suddenly pins and needles all over her body. Bulma stepped out of the ship.

Two things happened at once: it was as if her bones had turned into metal and her muscles to sandbags. Her shoulders instantly dragged down, as if someone had dropped a huge, heavy wet cloak on her. Her back began to slump down and the air was thick and suffocating. Damn it, she had completely forgot that the cursed planet had 10x the gravity of her own.

The second thing was that, Bulma felt like she had walked in front of the fiery jet of a ship. She was startled at the instant wave of sweat that began to pour down her face and back. Never in her life had she sweated so suddenly and that heavily. Bulma scowled, so incredibly uncomfortable that she could have socked a starving orphan. She _hated_ sweating. And this, this was just plain disgusting. On the rare occasion she did _glow, _it was when she was nervous. In her entire life she had never sweated to relieve the heat of the climate. Not on Tokoshimo.

It did _not_ help that she was still wearing her sued boots, pilot pants and fur-trimmed clock. Bulma never thought there would be day were she could honestly say, I am going to strip right here and now and I don't care who sees me, damn it!

Her eye's burned at the brightness of the sun and the dryness in the atmosphere. She coughed against the dusty, spiced air. She heard snickering around her; she sent a hot glare at the two Saiyan men now at her flanks. Bastards, she accused. With nothing but sheer will and pride (It's not like she had any real muscle), Bulma straightened her spine and squared her shoulders and walked on.

Bulma scanned her surroundings with a bit of difficulty, taking great effort to turn her head and keep her neck straight at the same time. She gave up and decided the ugly planet wasn't really worth the effort anyway. What she could see was an expansive crimson sky, white clouds fading into the horizon in melted pinks. There were no trees in her tunnel vision and the ground was a dried and cracked terrain. Past the landing bay, Bulma could see tall black spires. The Palace.

She supposed they entered the royal landing bay, as it was obviously connected to the Palace. Around Bulma were various ships landing and taking off. More like an air base than the more technological docking bays of her own planet. She went off toward the massive arched-doorway nearby.

She had been walking barley a minute when her body ached and begged for rest. She blinked and wiped at the sweat dripping into her eyes, her sweaty fingers only effectively rubbed it in. She let out a low curse, great, now she was blind. What a horrible miserable planet this was! She begged whatever deity controlled the universe would wipe it from existence.

Bulma took a deep breath to calm herself. She was so suddenly uncomfortable and disgusted and hot and frustrated, that it was overwhelming. She heard more laughter from the men escorting her. She shook her head, trying to focus and memorize her surroundings. She needed to remember the way to the landing bay, just incase. Finally, they were about to enter the main building, her body begging for the air conditioning.

To Bulma's _intense_ disappointment, the building was just as hot as it was outside. Bulma was so close to screaming, throwing a tantrum right there in front of everybody. Her pride and dignity the only thing stopping her. She began to openly breath through her mouth, panting. Never had she been so unbearably hot in her life! When her mouth became dry and her tongue turned to cotton, Bulma snapped her mouth closed and smacked her lips in an effort to remoisten it.

How dose anyone live here!? No wonder the Saiyans were the way they were! If she lived here, she would happily go kill people, just because they didn't have to live on a disgusting-little-sad-excuse-of-a-habitable-planet. Bulma angrily glared at the two Saiyans, as if her little conclusion of the Saiyans's nature was actually fact. Those bastards. It wasn't everybody else's fault they got stuck with a crappy planet.

She looked around the halls of the un-air-conditioned palace. The walls were made of a dull brown stone, the large floor tiles that of a darker russet. As they walked, the palace became more elegant, and classic. The dull brown became a dark royal purple, the walls a dark black reflective marble. Smooth white columns began to line the walls, tapestries, weapons or paintings decorating the space between. After another turn, Bulma's feet hit a fine red carpet that lay in the center of the hall. After many turns and twist (Bulma memorizing every single one), a very long elevator ride and finally a set of stairs (Bulma almost cried when she saw them) they came to a door.

Bulma was panting as if she had just run a marathon. Her muscles strained against the intense gravity, as if she had hiked up a vast mountain, not a ten minute walk. Bulma was drenched and exhausted, and hot and uncomfortable and disgusted and thirsty! They pushed her into the room and shut the door behind her, without a single word.

Though the moment the door closed, a roar of laughter was heard from the two men. Bulma took the opportunity to let out all her frustration in a deep throaty roar. Panting and still angry, she tore off her cloak like it was a fat leach on her shoulders. She undressed like a mad women.

It was around the time her pants hit the floor that Bulma noticed two other Saiyan women looking between themselves confused, not really knowing what to do. Normally, Bulma might have had the decency to be embarrassed. But she was so far beyond that. So far.

She sent them an angry accusing glare and coldly asked, the way only a spoiled princess could, "Can I help you?"

Both women looked at each other again, sharing equal looks of annoyance. The shorter of the two spoke up. "We are your aids form this point on. Is there anything you require of us?"

Bulma absently looked around the room, ignoring their presence for a moment. It was grand room, where all the needs of a princess were met. Bulma was still too frustrated and uncomfortable to think of anymore escape plans, or really even take in and note the beautiful room around her.

One shuffled her feet impatiently, Bulma was about to rudely kick her out when she spoke up. "Would you like a bath?"

Bulma was never one to say no to a bath. Especially now. She shuddered, her clothes sticking to her skin.

So with that, her tunnel vision left no room to notice a white dress.

--.....0.0.--

.To Be Continued.

--.....0.0.--

**A/N** – There's chapter two for you. I'm not sure if it is on par with chapter one, but there can't be action all the time right? Besides, this will eventually focus more on Vegeta and Bulma's relationship and then some.

By now I hope you've notice that I do _not_ intend for Yamcha to be the backstabbing, cheating, jackass that he is usually portrayed as in fanfiction (you're going to have to blame Path to Power, which I watched right before I concocted this whole idea, so he got his role here. Mostly because he was too damn hot in that). Not saying he won't be occasionally insensitive and clueless (in other words a _guy_), but he will eventually be a bigger bit in the story, along with some other characters.

Tell me what you think, (I'm especially curious about the Yamcha issue, since so many B/V fans are quite anti-Yamcha (which is understandable), I love it when people are specific in why they liked, or hated, the chapter.

- Mellow Penelo


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** – Sorry for the wait, editing took a while. Brace yourself, it's another long one.

**.Disclaimer. **

--.....--

.Chapter Three.

--.....--

After a magnificently icy bath, Bulma now stood in a silk bathrobe. She took the opportunity to really take in her surroundings. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. What? Throw her in a cell and then into a royal suite? What were the Saiyans up too? She then realized that they were going to dress her up to look taken care of before the negotiations. She supposed the Saiyans would tell her Father that she was given the best care.

She rolled her eyes. One of the women brought over a white dress.

It was sleeveless and the ivory fabric pooled around her collarbone. Around the waist was a scarlet scarf that was held together with a beautiful white stone in the front. The stone was a kind Bulma had never seen before. From the gem on, the dress parted in a slit down the middle to reveal slightly darker white chiffon. It was very elegant and beautiful.

Bulma, now clean and in slightly better mood, had had enough of Saiyan help.

"I'll manage, you can leave." Bulma said curtly, the women glared. Bulma rolled her eyes as they left the room. Oh, had she offended them?

Bulma couldn't care less, already putting her attention on the dress. She slipped into it and saw that it fit snuggly on her waist and hips and then fell loosely to the ground. She realized that the scarlet scarf was not on her waist, but loosely on her hips, the jewel resting just between her legs.

Bulma scowled, "Perverted Saiyans, now everyone's eyes are going to go straight there..." For the briefest of moments, she considered getting back to her old clothes, but decided against it when she remembered just how dirty they were. She eyed a mirror and blushed, embarrassed and displease.

There was a soft knock on her door. Bulma considered staying quiet, just to annoy whoever was there.

"It's Frieza."

Bulma dove to the door like a mad women and yanked it open. The Icejin was about to knock again, his knuckles just hovering next to her face. She let him in, her eyes wide and focused only on him. His powerful presence brought the reality of the situation back to her, and she could no longer care to complain about dresses.

"I'm sorry this happened." Frieza said softly, closing the door behind him.

"I'm glad you're here." Bulma breathed, "Have you heard from my Father, anyone?" They had to be alright. She couldn't accept any other possibility.

Frieza shook his head. "My ship caught a distress signal, but by the time we arrived...it was too late."

Bulma's gasped as if all the air in her lungs had been violently pounded out by a crowbar. Too late? How could it have been too late? Yes, things were grave... Yes, she had been capture... but... Too late? Were her people enslaved? Or even annihilated? While her mind had briefly gone over the scenarios in that cell, it hadn't had actually sunk in. A sudden horrific thought crossed her mind, freezing the blood in her veins.

"Did the Saiyans destroy Tokoshimo?" Bulma asked desperately, eyes wide. Her very existence was hanging on his answer.

"No," Bulma let out a breath, relief flooding her senses as her heart began to pump again. The bastards had been known to do that. To completely obliterate the planets of their enemies.

"But everyone of importance was either killed or escaped." Frieza said with a small frown. Alarm and fear ran through her like a shock of electricity. Her heart sped up, pounding against her ribcage. It was almost as if she could feel it bruising against her bones.

Her Father, Yamcha, Marron, so many faces flooded her vision, Eighteen, Sixteen, her people. How could they all be- No!

Bulma slowly shook her head, no longer seeing Frieza in front of her. ...He had said _escaped_! Bulma knew Marron would have escaped! Marron was safe, she _knew_.

Marron would have done all she could to help and then evacuated as many people as she could. Though everyone else... Eighteen and Sixteen were Androids; they would have been able to hold their own against a Saiyan, easily. However, she could never see them abandoning Tokoshimo, running when there was still fight left in them. Sixteen... there was a slim chance, if her Father ordered it. But Eighteen...

That stupid women! Tears pushed at Bulma's eyes.

Yamcha! He would have fought, she realized with painful dismay. He was as loyal to her planet as her Generals were. But- but, the Saiyans were just so much _stronger_! Her breath began to come quickly as she thought of the scenarios, horrible gruesome scenes running over her vision. Crimson blood seeping into the white snow. Lifeless eyes staring into the ill fitting clear blue sky. Bulma clenched her eyes shut and nearly doubled over; the pain stabbing at her heart was nearly physical.

She couldn't think like that! She couldn't think of those possibilities, she _couldn't__! _Bulma willed her heart to slow down, to steady her breath. But her thoughts wouldn't obey and they jumped from one love one to another. Her Father...

He would have stayed.

Bulma's chest constricted, agonizingly, as if a python had wrapped around her and squeezed out every last breath. She fell forward, her knees giving out beneath her. She didn't even register the arms that supported her.

"Bulma."

She looked up, her eyes pleading him to tell her it wasn't true, none of it was true. Her body trembled in his hands. He looked down at her in sympathy, his brow dipped and his lips pursed together. Then he spoke, his voice admonishing.

"You're stronger than this. Much stronger. You can not afford to fall. If you do, you won't get back up again." His dark eyes were clear and stern, narrowed "They think they've won, Bulma. They think that you, your family, your _people, _are finished. And they will be, if you fall."

Slowly, Bulma's face harden. Frieza was right. She couldn't break down now. She couldn't succumb to the grief of the unknown. She didn't have that luxury. Her Father's words echoed in her mind. She couldn't lose hope. She was her people's hope. Even now, captured, she still held their only hope.

The Saiyans hadn't won.

Bulma pulled away from his grasp. Grateful to Frieza, for all he had done. While she couldn't manage a smile, her eyes softened. He simply nodded, understanding.

"Do you have any idea, how the Saiyans managed to invade?" He went own, his voice somber and his brow slightly furrowed.

The Machines.

Bulma's chest began to fill with anger, her mind clouding with frustration. She clenched her teeth and shook her head.

"They disabled every force field, they evaded the sensors and scanners, they cut off the cameras, they blocked our weapons, they knew _every_ weakness in _every_ system. They were even immune against our biological weapons!" Bulma's voice rose as she went on, remembering every time the technology had failed her, every time that royal bastard smirked at her.

"How?!" She cried out in sorrowful desperation.

Frieza sighed, shaking his head, looking disturbed and confused. After a moment, he spoke again "The Back Up Systems?"

"A virus." Bulma gasped out with bitter bafflement. It had eaten away at the BU System. Decaying it and making the lines of code useless. It didn't make any sense, Bulma and Sixteen had extensively built in up with the strongest defenses, updating it once a month. It was not a daily check up like almost all the other systems... they had never expected this to ever happen. How could it? Bulma couldn't grasp it.

Her thoughts and emotions were running through her mind so quickly, it was exhausting. She swallowed at the thick lump in her throat

"I won't let anything happen to you." He said firmly.

Bulma looked at Frieza and nodded. She took a deep breath. She needed to control her emotions, stop letting them cloud her vision. She need to look at her situation the way a proper ruler should: detached. She needed to see the solid facts and reacting to them rationally. Not emotionally. She was trained in this manner, as both a future queen and a scientist.

She spoke calmly and objectively, "Why am I on Vegeta-sei?"

"King Vegeta made it clear that he wants you here." Frieza said, he didn't look too pleased about the decision. "I couldn't persuade him out of it."

Bulma's brows dipped as she rolled the information around in her mind. The only logical explanation was for her to be a hostage. Technology was the only real spoil of war the Saiyans could take from Tokoshimo. While that itself was a massively valuable commodity, it wasn't something that simply could be taken. No, it was much to complex. They would need Ningen help to put it to use.

"I will do my best to persuade the Saiyans to think rationally about what is to happen to Tokoshimo." Frieza said, his diplomacy coming back now that Bulma had gotten a hold of herself. "I don't have to remind you of the bad blood that will be dealt with." He paused for a moment "I implore you to be compliant with their demands."

Her eye's snapped over to him, clearly not happy with the advice. The look Frieza gave her showed he expected her reluctance. After all, he had known her a very long time; he knew how fiery and stubborn she could get. Especially when she was wronged.

He gave her a knowing look. It spoke volumes. He knew her never to take anything lying down, and he didn't really expect her too. "For now."

She nodded. A new fire burning in her chest, hope blazing. The Saiyans hadn't won yet. Now, more than ever, she would personally make them regret their betrayal.

--.....--

The Saiyans, and Vegeta himself, relished in the art of war. This one however, had been a long and weary one. Saiyans rarely engaged in a war that lasted longer than six months, five years was just down right unheard of.

The normal conquest of a planet was short and quick, which was the way his people like such affairs. Saiyans were not naturally a patience race and much preferred action to the diplomatic dances most nations engaged in.

The joy was in the fight, the heat of battle. Not in the war room. While Vegeta himself did enjoy fabricating strategy, he much preferred to see the successful execution. However, this war had the Saiyans stuck in the war room more often then they would have liked. It grew frustrating.

On top of that, for the first time, the Saiyans had not been looking forward to a war. Especially with the Ningens. There was no challenge in it. Vegeta even remembered the moment his Father had told the Strategos of the declaration. They simply stayed silent looking at each other with confused, skeptical looks.

His people openly laughed at the notion of going to war with Tokoshimo, the absurdity of such a thing. Surely, it was a joke. Once it had sunk in, his people were angry. What were the Ningens thinking? Did they think they had a chance?

The first battle was a gross reality check. The few men that were sent out were consequently slaughtered. Their torn limbs and disemboweled organs were left drifting in the black space.

This of course sent up a wave of bloodlust among his people. It was a great shame to be so defeated by Ningens.Strategy began, men assembled, ships built and the Saiyans began to rise to the challenge the Ningens had proposed, now fully ready to wipe their existence from the universe.

No more mercy.

But that damn technology. While the Ningens could keep repairing the machines that were destroyed, make new ones, fix flaws and glitches, the Saiyans had to replenish their resources, train new soldiers, and flaws took time to fix in organic beings. It made the war an uphill battle. However, like the saying goes, there's a big difference between losing the battles and losing the war.

Once his Saiyans had gotten those blue-prints, the antidotes, the war was won.

And now, here he was, victorious against the devious race. He enjoyed every minute of tearing apart Ningens limb from limb, watching their shocked faces as they realized their machines had failed them. Vegeta had even laughed out loud on a few occasions.

Quite frankly, if Vegeta had been one to skip around in joy, he would have. However, he certainly _wasn't._ Actually you'd probably never meet anybody as anti-skipping as the Saiyan Prince. But that's beside the point. What was at hand now, was the glorious victory that Vegeta found himself in. Not only did the Saiyans finally stick it to that blasted race, but he had taken what was rightfully his.

The Princess.

She had been owed to him for quite some time now, an eternity it seemed. She was his spoil of war, what he had gone out and personally hunted down. That had been a lot more exciting than he expected. Their game of cat and mouse had proved to be exhilarating in a way he hadn't thought possible.

He supposed it was because she was denied to him for so long. Not to mention he had been pleasantly surprised to see that the rumors were true. She had indeed grown to be beautiful. Breathtaking, even. So really, Vegeta was not quite murderous at the idea of taking her as a mate.

No, not at all. It was something he had been expecting for a very long time. She was, quite simply, owed to him.

However, when something was owed, that meant that the owner could deal with the possession however he pleased. Vegeta scowled. As it was, he was being forced to wed the Princess. Now. As in _today_.

Though, while he wasn't exactly upset with that prospect, what downright infuriated him, was that he had no say in the matter. He was being forced.

If there was one thing Vegeta hated more than anything, it was being forced. He abhorred taking orders. The only person that could actually get away with issuing a direct order to him was his Father. Even then it was always a battle of wills.

The icing on this particular cake was that _Frieza_ had joined in on the ordering. Vegeta didn't deal with that very well. Actually, Vegeta didn't usually deal with anything involving the Icejin very well. More often than not, property was destroyed, and people died.

Frieza's reaction was particularly curious. Vegeta refused to dwell on it. More pressing matters were at hand. Vegeta was being forced to wed, much sooner than he would have liked.

He frowned. Taking a mate was not something to be taken lightly. He was aware of other similar unions in the universe that were actually taken quite frivolously. That other beings wed with each other frequently and terminated the bond just as often. Saiyans didn't. Really, they _couldn't_.

It was an intensely deep bond, that once established, was near impossible to break. No matter what. Being bonded to another person, so intimately... so irreversibly was not something he wanted to deal with. Not right now.

He was in his prime. He was still a prince. Now was the time to train and fight and expand his future empire. Prepare for that bond. It was not the time to actually have it.

Vegeta would take a mate when he wanted to, not when it was convenient for someone. He wanted it on his own terms. However, that wasn't the case.

While he was glad that he finally had what was owed to him, he just wanted the Princess here at his home. To ensure that he would _eventually_ mate her. That no other man would dare come near her. It was simple really.

There was a knock at the door bringing Vegeta out of his thoughts. He glanced at the door expectantly.

"Vegeta! It's me." The voice called out cheerfully.

The Prince rolled his eyes. There was only one person in the entire universe that greeted him so casually. "Kakarrot."

The Saiyan open the door, hauling a grand wooden chest over his shoulder, a big goofy grin planted on his face. "Got your ceremonial armor." He walked over to where a full length mirror stood, placing the chest down beside it.

Vegeta went to open the chest. It held traditional golden armor for his shoulders and forearms. A set of the more modern white armor that all Saiyans wore was there as well. It had no shoulder pads and the usually pleating on the stomach was a brilliant polished gold. As he was, Vegeta was already in loose white pants.

"Are you nervous?" Kakarrot asked, his expression child-like and excited.

"This day's been long in coming." Vegeta pulled on the decorative chest armor, not bothering to look at him.

"That's not what I asked." Kakarrot leaned against the wall beside the mirror, crossing his arms.

"Shut up Kakarrot, it'll be best for your health." Vegeta dismissed, pulling on white boots, the tops trimmed with thick bands of gold. He tucked his white pants into them, making them poof out a bit.

"Oh, come on!" Vegeta threw so many threats at him, it really had no effect anymore. Rather, they usually encouraged the soft-hearted Saiyan "It's okay! I know I was."

"You're a coward." Vegeta said easily, pulling out a wide scarlet cloth and wrapping it around his waist. "You were young, too."

Kakarrot merely shrugged, that ever present grin softened. He then said, "It was right."

Vegeta didn't say anything, latching a gold belt over the cloth to keep it in place. He briefly contemplated Kakarrot's own situation. Taking a mate had changed Kakarrot, wised him up a bit. Matured him. Everyone knew he needed that.

"You think she's nervous?" Kakarrot suddenly asked, his tone curious.

Vegeta raised a brow as he reached for the gold armor that would adorn his shoulders and lock over his collarbone. It had never occurred to him-- her thoughts on the issue-- not that they particularly mattered. If she had any qualms about the ordeal, she'd have to deal with it. It's not like he was exactly happy with the suddenness of it all either.

"You think she's scared?" Kakarrot broke in again, his tone softening just the slightest.

"What's with your incessant questioning?" Vegeta shot at him. If she was displeased with the situation (not that she had any _real_ right to be), he imagined her to be more angry than scared.

"You're getting a mate. That's what." Kakarrot said happily, then added thoughtfully, "I didn't expect it to be so sudden. What happen to plan A?"

Vegeta scowled as Kakarrot hit on the sore spot, of how un-in-control (he refused to say helpless) he was of the situation. Instead of letting Kakarrot in on that, he went on the slightly defensive. "I remember _you_ rushing into a wedding. You were only 18."

"It was right." Kakarrot repeated easily, not bothering to elaborate.

Vegeta pulled on the gold bands that would cover his forearms. He knew that the Ningen Princess was meant to be his mate. He wasn't worried about that.

"I think you should have a bachelor party." Kakarrot's goofy grin slid into place and he looked at Vegeta with excitement.

"A what?" Vegeta asked, bafflement evident on his face.

"It's what Sabbian men do before they get married."

"You've been talking to that bald midget again, haven't you?" Vegeta accused, as if admonishing a child for playing with a mangy stray dog.

"Yeah! Kirillin says that he went to a royal one a few weeks ago, and that it was a lot of fun."

"Royal?" Vegeta's eyebrow rose, "How'd that merchant get into a royal event?"

"He's close friends with the Sabbian Prince or something. It wasn't a formal event."

"You just want an excuse for a feast." Vegeta finally said as he finished dressing. He looked over himself in the mirror, briefly eyeing the Saiyan symbol on his left breast.

Kakarrot gave him a sheepish smile. He went on, still curious, "Are you going to do any Ningen traditions?"

Vegeta give him a weird look, "No." It was Saiyan ceremony. She was becoming part of his family, not the other way around.

"What if she wants too?"

Vegeta glared at Kakarrot, annoyed at all the questions. Really, if the guy wasn't the only living Saiyan that could provide a challenging spar, Vegeta would have killed him long ago. As it was, Kakarrot asked a valid question there. "I suppose If she really wants to or something..." Vegeta murmured thoughtfully, "As long as they're reasonable."

"What, no poetry?"

Vegeta sent him a glare and Kakarrot let out a bark of a laugh. "Could you imagine?" he threw his head back at the image of Vegeta rhyming, fumbling over a piece of paper with scrawled verses.

"No." Vegeta said coldly began to head to the door. Kakarrot pushed off the wall and followed him.

"I don't think you'd be very good at it." Kakarrot baited, a sly smile on his face.

"Let's not find out." Vegeta said marching down the hall. Though his pride pushed him to say more, "For the record, any poetry I write _would_ have her at my feet." Kakarrot threw him a rueful grin.

"In tears."

--.....--

Bulma was led down the hall, accompanied by the two Saiyan women that attended to her earlier. Frieza had left, telling her he would do everything in his power to find out the whereabouts of her Father and loved ones. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself not to think of them now. She had to focus on the matters at hand.

Before she knew it, she was in front of a massive red door decorated with gold trim. Two guards stood on either side of it, short blue cloaks hanging from the shoulder pads of their armor. When no one opened the door for her, Bulma looked around questioning.

They appeared to be waiting for something. Alright, she'd open the door. That was fine with her (though proper protocol called for them to opened the door for her, but whatever). Bulma was about to make a move for it, when something stopped her.

Faintly, very faintly, she could hear voices on the other side. She listened to the muffled sounds, but for the life of her, couldn't understand what was being said. She glanced at the four Saiyans around her and supposed they could hear perfectly. Bulma would be the first (not cheerfully, mind you) to admit that the Saiyans did have superiority when it came to a few of the senses.

"Her necklace." One of the guards remarked, motioning with a nod.

Bulma raised a brow, her hand going to her silver engagement necklace. It was now exposed at the base of her neck with the open collar of the dress.

"Take it off." One of the Saiyan women admonished. "Quickly."

Bulma glowered, completely appalled at the command. She wouldn't take off her engagement necklace! Her indignant refusal must have been evident on her face, because the woman rolled her eyes and quickly reached out and snatched it off.

Before Bulma could even react, the door opened. For a moment Bulma sent an outraged glare at the women. Rage rolling of her body in tangible waves. Bulma's muscles were tensed and it took all of herself control not to lunge at the woman. Perhaps it was all that training to be formal when the time called for it, the training to control her emotions when she was representing her planet, whatever it was, it kept Bulma from starting a straight up brawl right then and there.

After a few deep calming breaths, Bulma willed herself to believe it was just like any other diplomatic meeting and that she was just annoyed because Marron had said something slightly offensive and stupid (not hotly enraged because some Saiyan women just took her engagement necklace!). Reflexively a neutral expression slid on Bulma's face, her posture straightened and she held her head up high. She walked in elegantly with a fierce confidence and a strong sense of presence.

Willing herself not to think about what just happened, Bulma kept her gaze straight in front of her. There was the massive emblem of Vegeta-sei displayed on a crimson triangle behind the throne. On the throne, sat King Vegeta, watching her.

His gaze caught her so off guard, Bulma almost lost her calm facade. It was... soft. Which was more than odd and more than alarming. Bulma's own expression hardened. She refused to think of the possible reasons for his expression. He had no right to look at her like that.

It took all of Bulma's will to keep from immediately looking at the other person standing before her. Sheer will. Therefore not really registering his attire. Though, from her peripheral, she could tell he was watching her.

Bulma took calming breaths as her heart began to beat faster and her mind reeled with emotions. Her jaw and fists clenched. Bulma's previous righteous anger came back full force to focus on the Prince. She needed to control her emotions! Her body almost shook as she struggled.

Bulma hadn't even known it was possible for a person to cause so much rage by their presence alone.

She was at the Prince's side now, she stopped before the Saiyan King, her attendants having disappeared from her side at the door. She refused to look at hi-

He began to speak in a sharp foreign language. Reflexively, her eyes snapped over to him. Damn it! Her eyes immediately snapped forward, but not before locking with his for the tiniest of seconds.

When their eyes met, he paused and gave her a small smirk before going on. Bulma almost screamed in anger at him (she blamed him for her will crumbling so quickly). While she had so many reasons to hate him, it still struck her as odd that the smallest gesture could send her emotions passionately flaring. She had never felt hate, or any other emotion, so strongly.

Again, and again she tried to control it. In an effort to distract herself from it, she tried to make out what he was saying. It was in vain. Without a communicator, she was hopeless. Bulma didn't speak that ancient, rapid language.

Then the King began to speak in the native language as well. Addressing both Bulma and Vegeta. Bulma raised a brow. What the hell was going on? Her mind settled on the conclusion that they were going to make her sign a treaty, and this was some ceremony that led to it. Because really, what else could it be?

As the minutes passed, Bulma grew increasingly worried about her ignorance of what was going on around her. She had no idea what was being said, what type of ceremony this was exactly. What if she ended up unintentionally signing over her planet? Or make her people subservient to the Saiyans? Bulma kept the panic from showing on her face. As much as she hated it, she was completely un-in-control (she refused to say helpless). She was at their mercy, and had no other choice but to wait and see where everything led too.

Unwillingly, her thoughts drifted back to her naked neck. Instantly her temper flared and her muscles tensed. They had the audacity to take her engagement necklace from her! Of all the things...! Bulma couldn't even properly describe her indignation.

Before she could even will herself to relax, the Prince suddenly grabbed a hold of her wrist and roughly pulled her to him. His hand left her wrist and wrapped around her waist like a vice. His other hand went to her neck and tilted it to the side a bit, exposing the other side to his face.

His grip on her waist was so tight, it was almost painful. Before she knew what he was doing, his head dipped and his lips were on the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

Then he pulled away and stood straight again, moving them both back to their original places.

...

What the hell was that?! Bulma was in such a state of shock and alarm, she didn't even register anger. And _that_ was a first! Her body was as straight and stiff as a board. Shock and horror frozen on her face. Actually, she had a dead-on impression of what a victim of Medusa must have looked like. Her heart was beating like crazy against her chest and she thought it would give out from all the strain it had been through lately. Her skin was suddenly so hot, she swore she could have melted an ice cube on her stomach.

It was like a delayed reaction, because it had all happened so quickly. She didn't even get a chance to struggle against him or even think about screaming. After the longest moment, Bulma, extremely cautious, glanced at the Prince. His face was completely neutral... as if he hadn't just _manhandled_ her!

The King was speaking again, but Bulma couldn't even pretend to pay attention. Even if she was capable of forming a coherent thought, she wasn't actually given the chance. The Prince suddenly grabbed her wrist and led (dragged, really) her out of the throne room. The last thing Bulma was able think about was her engagement necklace.

--.....--

The ceremony had been shorter than he expected, which was fine by him really. The minute it was over, he grabbed the Princess and went to his room. He let go of her only when he had closed the door behind him. Vegeta headed over to the ancient chest, already pulling off the gold armor. He put it away, piece by piece. Then glanced back to see the Princess standing by the door where he left her. She was frozen like a statue, her eyes wide as they took in the room.

He frowned. She was obviously panicked.

He lifted a brow. Was she scared of mating? Then he shrugged to himself, she would enjoy herself.

In fact, he would make damn sure of it.

She should consider herself lucky. Thousands of women would literally kill to take her place, to be in his bed, his mate. Not only because he was a prince, destined to be the most powerful man in the universe, but frankly, he was a damn good lover. _Fact_. She should be thanking him, really.

He was about to pull off the white armor when her eyes shifted to him wildly. The moment she spoke, she lost her panicked look.

"Why am I here?" She asked coldly, with a harsh glare.

Vegeta raised a brow at her odd question. What was she _expecting_ after the ceremony? Was there some Ningen custom he wasn't aware off? Maybe Kakarrot had been right. He crossed his arms, studying her face, analyzing what she could mean.

Oh. He knew some planets had a whole banquet and reception after the wedding ceremony, and even left the location all together to finally mate. Perhaps Ningens kept such a tradition.

"The banquets will be held tomorrow night." Vegeta informed her easily as he pulled of his chest armor. He was expecting her to relax.

She didn't. She only gave him the same odd look he had given her. She gave him a snide look and opened her mouth, her face already in a sneer. Her eyes suddenly widened and the sneer turned into the panic look she had earlier

"Why are you taking your clothes off?!" She shouted, so incredibly scandalized, Vegeta was almost alarmed. He shot her another weird look, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

She didn't honestly expect them to mate with clothing on, did she? That was just unpractical. Besides, he had full intentions of seeing her completely, feeling every inch of her skin against his own. His eyes roamed over the teasing curves of her body. His muscles tensed at the thought, his stomach coiling with heat.

He took a steady breath to calm himself. He looked up at her again and for a moment she looked so terrified that for second Vegeta really was alarmed.

Though, there was no reason for her to be. So, maybe it really was a custom thing, and she just held her traditions as close to her as he did his own. He shook his head; he should have done some research on Ningen wedding and mating traditions.

"Why did you undress?" Her look of fear was gone as quickly as it had come, and instead she sent him a steely glare, her tone icy. She was completely on guard.

He frowned at her, and then glanced at the armor he had left on the floor. Another possible Ningen tradition entered his mind. "Did _you_ want to take them off?" He asked casually, then added with a shrug, "I can put it all back on, if you want."

It would be a bother, no doubt, but if it made her relax, he would do it. Plus, he didn't mind the idea of her soft hands gliding over his body. He didn't mind it at all. He caught her gaze again.

If possible, she looked even more scandalized then the last time. Her face had turned a bright red, her fist clenched at her sides. Her mouth was opening and closing, she sputtered trying to say something.

His eyebrow rose again. It was doing that a lot tonight. Though he couldn't help but smirk at her state. She seemed flustered. Was she shy? He found that pretty amusing. Though, he was left wondering. What _did_ she want? If she would only tell him, it would be done. Once again, his eyes began trailing over her body intently.

Her shimmering aqua tresses fell in loose curls, framing her heart shaped face. Her lips were rosy and pouting, begging for him. His eyed rolled over the curve of her neck, his mouth watering at the thought of marking her as his.

While the top of the dress pooled at her collar bone, the sides hugged her breast, tastefully emphasizing her assets. The slope of her waist and hips was tantalizing. His fingers twitched to touch her. Crush her body against his own. While the dress made her look like she didn't belong among mortals, he was sure she looked even better with it off.

Only when he found himself swallowing, did he realize that he was salivating.

"Stop looking at me like that!" She suddenly yelled at him, her fist clenched tightly by her sides.

He was startled by her outburst and laid her with a slightly alarmed and curious look. She was taking quick shallow breaths and her whole body was tense as if she would attack at the slightest movement. His eyes quickly found hers and before she could hide it, he saw it.

Fear.

Both of his brows went up in confusion. What was she so afraid off? He would be gentle... Maybe... At first… Well, he'd deal with that when he got there.

When he caught her eyes again, her look of fear and panic was gone. As if she was in and out of control of her emotions. Her tone and eyes were cold. Authority and slight anger in her voice. "Why am I in your room, and why are you undressing? And so help me if you say-"

"Because we're _married_." Vegeta finally said as if she was an idiot, giving her a glare. He was being incredibly patient with her odd behavior, her strange outbursts and questions. He figure a little reminder of what that ceremony was for, would remind her of what they should be doing.

Once again, the Princess outdid herself by looking even more scandalized than the previous times. "_What?!_"

Vegeta's own look of confusion intensified as he stared at her. He searched her face for any clue to her behavior, but her surprise and shock was completely genuine. Where was _she_ during the ceremony? Scratch that, she had had prior knowledge to their wedding long before that.

Her face shifted between various emotions of horror, confusion, disgust and outright anger "How is this- why- what? You're lying!" She shouted, pointing at him.

Vegeta sent her a nasty scowl. One thing Vegeta did not put up with, was being called a liar. "Listen here, woman. I've tolerated your strange behavior for some time now, and you suddenly playing dumb-"

"What?!" She yelled again, glaring at him, disbelief and anger on her face. She then suddenly clutched at her head in dismay, her eyes wide. "That- that was a not a _wedding! _That was-was-"

"That's exactly what it was." Vegeta spat, he did not like being interrupted either, "You can't honestly expect me to believe you're just figuring this out. I thought you Ningens were supposed to be smart. Not to mention you've known about this before that ceremony even began."

"At the Station!" She cried in dismay. "Your Father- why didn't I listen to him?!"

Vegeta glared at her. While his Father had told her on the Space Station, that was not the first time it was discussed. He hadn't been bothered by her nonexistent reaction to the reminder then.

Though, there were moments through out the ceremony when emotion would run through her eyes, her body stiffing and relaxing. It didn't bother him much, that is, till the end. She suddenly looked enraged. When he kissed her neck, all she would have had to do was pull away and the marriage would have been stopped. He _was_ worried she would pull away. It was why he had grabbed her so quickly and fiercely.

How could she be ignorant of this day? He looked over her form again; didn't _that_ give her a clue? "You think that dress you're wearing is just given to political captives?"

She looked down at her dress wide-eyed, then her eyes narrowed accusingly. She pulled at the loose white fabric at her collarbone and for a moment he thought she was going to tear it off. Her eyes widen again and she looked up, hope brimming in them.

"There was no necklace! Or ring! You didn't give me any type of symbol!" She cried as if it would make the whole ceremony void. "I didn't even say 'I do'!"

He was beginning to get mad. First she calls him a liar, and then she clearly shows that she did _not_ want to marry him. He gave her a harsh glare, she was _owed_ to him. She had no say in the matter.

He sneered at her, "The kiss was the seal. Besides, Saiyans don't give out trinkets. Our symbol is part of the flesh, can never be removed, taken or lost."

She gave him an odd look for a moment then shook her head. "I can't be- _I can't be married to you!_" She shouted fiercely.

His anger was rising. Who did she think she was? How dare she say it with such- such disgust? He was the Saiyan Prince, the strongest race in the universe. He was destined to be the greatest king who ever lived. She was chosen to be by his side. To be _his_ mate. How dare she be anything less than grateful?

He uncrossed his arms and began to advance on her. His hands clenched into tight fists, his eyes narrowed into thin slits.

Her eyes widened again, this time she didn't even try to hide her fear. It didn't even cross his mind to attempt to care. In a moment of tense panic, she suddenly turned and bolted the few feet to the door and flung it open.

Before she could even take a step through it, he was there in an instant, his palm slamming into the door, wrenching it from her grasp. He roughly grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, slamming her against the door.

She struggled wildly, her limbs colliding with his body much harder and faster than he expected. She twisted in his grasp, and her hand shot like a viper at his tail wrapped around his waist. She dug in her nails. In his surprise at the sudden painful contact, his muscles spasmed and his grip loosened. With a fiercely hard push, she ripped her body out from under him and dashed to the other side of the room.

His mind blanked for the briefest of seconds, as he leaned against the door on his forearms. Then he registered nothing but strong anger. He slowly turned, his jaw clenched and his breath coming in quick succession through his nostrils. She glared at him in much the same state, though her chest was heaving and her body trembling with adrenaline.

His tail snap in the air beside him. A Saiyan of his caliber had long ago gotten rid of that vulnerability, the tail's sensitivity to touch. However, no matter how hard one trained, their tail would always be sensitive around one's mate. It was a simple fact. While it wasn't as sensitive as some _other _organs, it was still pretty high up there. He was just glad they hadn't actually mated yet, or she very well could have incapacitated him.

This thought did nothing but infuriate him. It was one of the reasons he had wanted to wait to mate her! He could eventually be incredibly vulnerable to her. He did not want to be vulnerable to anyone. Especially some Ningen. Mate or not.

With the look he gave her, she really should have melted into the floor it was so heated with anger. She faltered for a second, before she straightened up and glared right back at him, her look just as venomous.

For a moment, he was taken back. Just were did she get the audacity to look at him that way?! She had no grounds! He had been nothing but patient towards her, he was even planning to take it slow, instead of completely ravishing her like his instincts told him to do. Did she appreciate it?! No! She decided to go crazy on him and started _insulting_ him, and then she was actually going to run from his room and then attacked him!

He never thought he could be so mad at her. He stalked over to her, not really sure of what his intentions were. She would be his, of course. She would belong to him before the night was through. Nothing would change that. While he would have like to wait to be mated, he certainly couldn't wait _now_. His body was too heated.

"Stay away from me...!" She hissed out fiercely, her eyes ablaze.

His eyes narrowed on her. Vegeta continued to advance on her. Something dark growing in him at her defiance. Her eyes looked wildly around the room, she lunged for a vase on the dresser to her right. What did she think she was going to do with that? His mood grew disturbingly morose. He raised a brow and sent her a mocking smirk.

The motion seemed to ignite her, she barred her teeth at him in rage and launched it at him. Vegeta didn't bother to dodge and it hit him square in the chest. It shattered against him as if it had hit a wall. It fell in pieces at his feet. The shattered glass left his torso covered in small nicks, thin drops of blood sliding down his abs.

In his dark mood, the attack only seemed to amuse him. The smell of his own blood brought on a sinister shot of delight, that of which only a Saiyan could experience. Her fiery anger faltered again at his reaction and her chest heaved with her frantic breaths.

He stepped over the broken vase and carried on towards her. His mood growing more bestial with each rapid beat of his heart. The small cuts on his stomach were already healing up. She glanced at the nearest exit and ran. He was on her before she could even advance three feet. He slammed her into the wall and pressed himself against her.

She fought him like her life depended on it. Her heart was beating like a hammer through her chest and against his, making his heart beat rise with hers. She pushed against him. Scratched at his shoulders, leaving bloody trails. She lifted her leg to knee him. He took the opportunity to slide his thigh between her legs.

She gasped and fought even harder against him. She squeezed her legs shut, indirectly on his thigh; making the heat in his stomach burn and spread. She yelled and screamed at him. Not pleas or apologizes, just throaty yells torn between anger and fear.

He grabbed the hands that were clawing at his shoulders and locked them on either side of her head. She turned away from him in an effort to create some space. He simply dipped his head to place his hot mouth on her neck. Never once did her struggle let up. No, it intensified as he began to smother her skin with moist fiery kisses.

He was beyond any rationality. Carnal instinct alone driving him. Her entire being ensnaring his senses. Her soft warm body pressed up against his own. He could smell her fresh clean scent, heavy with fear. Her throaty cries against his ear. The taste of her skin under his tongue. The sight of her struggling under him.

Distantly, he knew this wasn't how he wanted her. Though, the thick cloud of dark lust refused to leave him, and he found her more than satisfying in this manner. His body was on fire with unimaginable want and he knew she was the only thing that would quench him.

He let go of one of her hands and blindly groped at her shoulder. Searching for the strap of the dress that kept her from him. He was about to rip it off, when she cried out.

"Vegeta! Stop!" She screamed, her voice throaty and strong, but not hiding the desperation in it. At the sound of his name from her lips, he froze for a moment. She took the opportunity to try to get away, making him fight back against her again.

But she had saved herself. She had dispersed the dark fog, leaving him in the hazy aftermath. He grabbed her free hand and locked it beside her head again.

While she kept struggling, he simply froze against her, pushing her into the wall. In that moment he had enough sense to be disgusted with himself, but barley. The magnitude of what he was doing, not fully sinking in just yet. His mind was skirting through thoughts, unable to stop on one and develop it.

Only one thing was clear: He had lost control. He had _never_ lost control like that. Wildly his eyes searched for a reason, but didn't truly see anything they laid on. He could only register her body squirming against his. He could blamed her.

She was the reason for him losing control like that. It had never happened with any other women. He took deep breaths trying to calm himself, make the heat in his stomach fade away. It was impossible. So he willed the heat into anger.

He glared down at her. She was _still_ fighting him. Deifying him. He wasn't even moving, his chest slightly heaving against her own as he took deep breaths. A detached part of his psyche knew what he wanted, and realized she would not willingly give it to him.

He sneered down at her. Consuming anger at the rejection filling his body. By sheer force of will he pushed away the suddenly intensity. He refused to dwell on it.

Well, he knew what needed to be done.

He let go of her hands and wrapped an arm around her waist, crushing her against him and away from the wall. His other hand went to the base of her skull, grabbing a fist full of her silken hair. He roughly tugged her head to the side and without warning sunk his teeth into her flesh.

She let out a cry of shock and pain and fell limp against him.

It was excruciating, he knew. With her muscles so tense from her struggles, her body rigid and unyielding. _Excruciating._ Not that he cared about her comfort right now. He was much too angry with her and her reaction and even himself. He was certainly not going to soothe her either.

He pushed away from her and stormed into the bathroom. Nothing but a cold shower could help him now.

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.To Be Continued.

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**A/N** – Hey thanks for sticking with me! Please leave a review so I have some idea of how many people are actually reading this.

Anyway. I hate it when Vegeta and Bulma are mauling each other the first second they're alone together. If you want instant love, this is not your fic. I intend to work though the dynamics of their relationship, and have a big challenge before me to make them pull a 180.

Thank you to everyone who put this fic on their alert and favorites list. An even bigger thank you to everyone who took the time to review. Those reviews fuel me and make chapters come a lot sooner!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** – In the last chapter, Vegeta just went vampire on Bulma. Now we join her. 

**.Disclaimer. **

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.Chapter Four.

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Bulma sunk slowly to the floor, clutching her neck with both hands. Her breaths came out in strangled sobs as tears pushed at her eyes. Her mind was searing with white-hot pain, her neck throbbing with it. Her body trembled, trying to keep itself together and cope with the anguish. 

Her heart was beating, literally _beating_ against her ribcage. Like the organ was being slammed against a brick wall, becoming a disfigured bloody mass. Blood was rushing through her ears, pounding at her eardrums.

She couldn't think; she could only stare in horror at the space in front of her. She tried to scream, tried to push out all the excruciating pain with one throaty scream that would make her throat bleed. She couldn't. All that was heard was no more that high pitched hisses. 

She didn't think it could get any worse. It did. The pain in her neck began to spread, like acidic poison under her skin. It burned her muscles like a slow fire and cut at her nerves like they were being scraped by a fine blade. The tears were falling freely now as pain shot down her arm and up her neck. 

It spread down her chest. Her lungs felt as if they were suddenly wrapped in barbed wire. Each gasping breath and whimper making the barbs dig into the soft tissue, tearing it, ripping it. Her bones felt heavy, like it was a strain for her muscles to hold them. The strain was so big, she swore that the weight was ripping the bone from the muscles and her mind heard rips and tears, it was horrifically maddening. 

Her left arm began to lock like it had a sudden severe cramp. When she tried to move it, the bone felt like it was being slowly carved with a serrated blade. Her neck tensed and she couldn't swallow, couldn't breath. Her eyes widen in panic. And she registered something besides the pain. 

Fear. The fear an animal must get when it knows it's going to die. 

She began to thrash and writhe as if she was trapped and held down. She clenched her teeth down on her lip and drew blood. With a shock her body stilled at the taste of it. Franticly, she focussed on it. Her life depended on it. She focused on the pain she had caused. She bit down harder, focusing on the pain she could control. 

She didn't know how long she lay there. Laid curled up in a little ball on her side, her hands clamped down on her neck, her body trembling, trembling like every nerve in her body was shot. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared out across the floor vacantly, pain numbing and filling her mind. 

The pain had subsided enough for her to begin to think rationally. Slowly, she pulled herself up, it was much more difficult then it should have been. Much more difficult. Whether it was because her muscles were tensed and cramped, or because she was fighting the harsh gravity of the planet, she wasn't sure. 

She laid back against the wall, her legs folded on their side before her. She couldn't move them. She took deep breaths to calm herself. Her eyes slowly began to focus, distantly she heard water running. It didn't register. Dull shock began to fill her. The kind that one felt when they knew they should be enraged or in tears, but just didn't find the strength to be.

But her shock was slowly dissolving and Bulma felt the strength slowly ebbing out of her core, into her being. Her breathing began to quicken as she remember just what had happened. What had put her in such agonizing pain.

That bastard. 

Her mind quickly ran through snippets of memory. His callous hands groping at her body, his weight against her as if he was made of iron, his tongue running over her like a slimy slug. Her breathing began to quicken in embarrassment and humiliation. 

She blinked, and tried to clear her mind of that veil of shock. It wasn't letting what happen fully sink in. She felt the emotions only a fraction of what she rightly should of. She felt violated, but the righteous anger was slow in coming; Bulma could only shudder, a sorrowful grimace on her face. 

Bulma tried to think, tried to see past that veil that fell over the events. In a daze, she remembered her mindset throughout the whole ordeal. 

An animal. He had reduced her to lose almost all rational thought, and depend on instinct. Though half hooded eyes, she realized something: No one had ever done that before. No one had ever striped her of her intelligence, ingenuity, what _defined_ her. At this thought, the veil of shock began to lift; her mind began to move faster.

In that situation, everything that had gone through her mind was just emotion, instinctual reaction to him. Bulma narrowed her eyes in growing ire. She was appalled and sickened at the realization. Her mindless behavior was shameful, and it scared her beyond belief, and her dazed shock was gone. 

Never had she been in a situation she couldn't get herself out of. Whether with sweet words, authoritative demands, a shy smile, a down right tantrum, or her own clever manipulations, Bulma could get out of any trouble. But this... 

She hadn't been able to do _anything_, she hadn't been able to think straight, she hadn't been able to devise any plan whatsoever. Her eyes narrowed, the thought absolutely infuriating. If that wasn't enough shame, he had humiliated her in a way she had never experienced before. 

Her eyes twitched with repulsion as she remembered the first offense. His black eyes sweeping over her body, his gaze so heavy and focused it felt like a physical weight against her skin. Her had stomach rolled with disgust, anger and fear. No one had ever looked at her like that so openly. Like a piece of meat to be ruthlessly devoured. It made her skin crawl, made her feel so dirty and exposed. 

Not to mention the way he literally mauled her shortly after that. Perhaps she would have dwelled over the revolting memory of his body crushing her against the wall, his hands clenching her wrist like iron shackles, his lips searing into her skin. Maybe she could of thought of that, let that fuel her rage (It was certainly enough). However, it was what he had done after that, that truly humiliated her and cultivated the odium that she held for the Saiyan Prince. 

She didn't want to know how long she had laid, a puddle of weakness, ignominy, writhing in pain like a worm on the floor of his bedroom. She didn't want to remember the intensity of the physical pain he cause, how it had driven thought from her mind. How he had reduced her to act like a senseless animal _twice_. Anger filled her at her disgrace, at his transgression. Her jaw clenched and she bit back a cry. It felt like someone just sliced her neck open. 

She let out ragged breaths. Her pride severely bruised. While this had been the most intense pain she had ever experienced in her life, her pride wouldn't let her succumb, she couldn't let it overpower her. She would fight it. She bit her lip, tasting the blood, concentrating on it. Though, the intensity of her anger, her humiliation gave her much more fuel to block out the severe ache on her neck. 

In the way one would rip off a band-aid, Bulma quickly pushed herself up. She leaned on the wall for support, gasping as pain shot up her legs. She ignored it and didn't let it subside before she moved to walk. Each step felt as if she was stepping on a giant sword and it was cutting straight through the bone of her leg, up to her pelvic bone. With sheer force of will, she made it towards the middle of the right wall, where a sitting area was placed. 

Briefly she remembered Eighteen's voice in her mind, tell her that her stubbornness would be the death of her. To combat the brutal pain, Bulma turned the little tease into a challenge and marched to a red armchair. No, this wouldn't kill her. She would not die yet. She vehemently refused to die before _him_. 

She collapsed upon the armchair, hisses and whimpers escaping her mouth. Forcefully she moved her hands away from her neck. Instantly she felt the need to cover it again, as if her hands were doing anything to soothe it. The air hit the flesh wound, harshly like a bitter cold wind. She looked at her palm to see it smeared with her blood and his cold saliva. She wiped it on the armrest in absolute revulsion. Then she clenched her hands on the armrest, her nails digging in, imagining it was his flesh. 

Never had she felt such an intense hate for anyone. Or such an extreme sense of betraya - Bulma forcibly shoved the word out of her mind. The Saiyan Prince was incapable of betraying her. Betrayal implied… Bulma shook her head, tossing those thoughts aside with practiced efficiency. 

The Prince was simply a figure, a symbol of things she hated. He had been nothing more than the enemy, a name, nothing more than the Saiyan leader. Now, it was _now,_ that he had personally and intimately wronged her. Striped her of what she was, turned her into a mindless animal, and caused her torturous pain. 

Now she didn't just want to get even, she wanted him to feel twice as much pain as he caused her. Make every crime he committed against her look like mere child's play compared to what she would deal him. Make him truly regret ever meeting her.

There was a sudden swoosh of a sliding door. Bulma's eyes snapped to it, her head perfectly still. She was already unconsciously adjusting her expression and body language to prevent it from expressing pain. She narrowed her eyes on his form and everything she had been brooding over came in a sudden rush over her mind. All her feelings rushed though her again and she chose one to override them all. 

With a sudden will, she wanted to control her anger into a cold ice to slice his flesh with, instead of the uncontrollable fire that threatened to consume her. No, she wouldn't let him know how much he had affected her, how much of her rationality he had destroyed. She roped her anger in with disturbing ease, ease she never knew she was capable off. 

She watched as his gaze settle to where he had left her and to her sudden delight, he looked incredibly confused and taken back that she was not still there. However, instead of frantically looking around like she would of liked, his head lazy turned over to where she sat. She was laid back in the chair, slouched and looking as casual as she could, unaffected and indifferent. Nothing but icy contempt.

He smirked at her, and if she hadn't been so focused on her own expression, she might of saw the approval along with the barley concealed surprise.

Instead, his smirk set her off like it always seemed to do. Her icy anger heated, turning her tone deathly malicious. "You fucking bit me." She snarled, her eyes narrowed in a murderous glare. She realized it hurt immensely to talk, her neck not likening the slight movements. She completely ignored it. 

His smirk slid off and he glared back of her. His voice irate. "Of course I did." He then leveled her with an intense glare, one she imagined he'd give to a soldier that disobeyed a direct order. "Your mine." 

Bulma's eyes flew open at this. "Excuse me?" She hissed venomously cold. He did not just say that! Her blood was beginning to boil, heated by his audacity. 

His eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed on her. His eyes laid over her like she had just insulted his mother. He advanced on her, his muscles tense and his fist clenched.

She stood up to meet him, ignoring the shock of agony and concentrating on her anger. He had shamed her. She had to salvage her dignity. For a fraction of a second, both surprise and intrigue was on his face, so quickly Bulma knew she had to have imagined it. Yes, now on his face was clear anger. 

"You heard me, women. You are my property, I do with you what I will."

In an _instant_, Bulma lost all that icy control and her anger erupted like a volcano "You bastard!" She roared, "Where the hell do you get off-"

He was in front of her so fast, even with her superior eyesight, he was nothing but a blur. With stubborn determination she glared up at his face instead of falling back in the armchair. Torturous pain shot through her neck at the slight crane she had to make to look up at him. 

"You lost the war, your people have no excuse to keep you from me now. You were owed to me." His eyes were so dark and blazingly furious. Someone in their right mind would of backed down by now.

At his words, it was Bulma's turn to be taken back, as if he had slugged her. How dare he have the nerve, to even _fathom_ that he had any right to her! Blind ire began to build in her. She open her mouth to contradict him. However, he went on his voice husky, a little more than a dangerous growl

"Not only have we gone through the ceremony, I've marked you. Your _mine._" He barred his teeth at her in a feral snarl, his eyed glaring down at her with nothing but contempt, the last word said with such finality, anyone with preservation instincts would not have contradict. 

As it was, Bulma was vehemently sick of running on instincts. Her eyes flashed and she barred her teeth, "You bastard, I am _not_ owed to you! That ceremony did _not_ bind me to you, this sick disgusting flesh wound dose _not_ make me yours!" 

His eye's flashed with such powerful anger, his muscles twitched, and to her shame, Bulma had the sudden fear that he would strike her. His jaw was clenched tightly, his fist at his sides, his knuckles bone-white. His red ki became faintly visible and Bulma couldn't hide her fear as her eye's widened and she shrunk away from him, her pride keeping her from falling into the chair behind her. At her slight motion though, his ki dissipated as suddenly as it had come.

"If you do not wish to acknowledge the agreement, then look at it this way," He bit out. Bulma hid her surprise at his calm voice well. Though, while his voice was not raised, it was laced with strain and undeniable anger. "You lost the war, you are then a prisoner, a captive. You belong to my empire, therefore are mine."

"No." Bulma said firmly, looking away from him and shaking her head, then immediately regretting it as she felt like she had just taken a saw to her own neck. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and concentrated on his lies. She refused that situation. She didn't belong to anyone! She couldn't- She couldn't be- "I'm not married to you! I-"

"You are!" He roared, "Get it through your head!" 

"I didn't agree to this!" 

His eyes widened again, as if she had just spit in his face. His brow dipped, and he, almost frantically, searched her face. Then he barred his teeth at what he found. He heaved quick breaths, and snared at her, no _roared_ at her. His voice throaty and bestial, "You did!"

Bulma's eyes widened and narrowed in irrational anger, intensely painful emotion. What he referred to did not _exist. _She blatantly, vehemently, refused. However, since it was _him_, the Saiyan Prince, she knew he wouldn't accept that. 

She needed to get away from him. Now. As quickly as she could she stepped aside him. And to her surprise, he let her. Bulma made a beeline to the bathroom and just before she entered, she hissed.

"I didn't."

She swore he turned towards her so fast, she heard the air swooshed around him. However, she slapped the touch pad and the door slid close behind her. 

She stood there for a long moment. She was _not_ retreating. She just… 

Bulma slumped back against the door, whimpering softly at her body's protest of movement. She let the pain consume her mind; it was better than thinking about anything the Saiyan Prince had done. Now that she wasn't ignoring the agony though, she thought she was going to pass out. 

It was unbearable. Absolutely unbearable. Her shouting match had burned at her nerves. The pain grew to be too much, and she tried to will it away. She tried to get up. This time, she didn't shoot up, but tentatively and agonizingly slow pushed herself up and walked over to the sink. She placed her palms on the counter. The fact the tiles were of Ningen design was completely lost on her. She looked up at the round silver framed mirror. Her mouth fell in horror and her eyes widened.

There on her neck was a massive bruise. Two black puncture marks that faded to the ugliest of purples as it spread out. It climbed up her neck and over her shoulder, like an outstretched spider. It was a shock against her pale skin and seeing what it looked like, made it hurt so much worse. 

Tears began to drop down her cheeks and she suddenly felt so overwhelmingly tired. To tired to really think of what such a mark meant, or wallow in the pain and pity. Anger was a draining, exhausting emotion and Bulma didn't bother to wipe away her tears. She watched with a strange detachment as they fell into the sink and slide down the slope.

How did this happen?

How the hell did Bulma end up crying in _Vegeta's_ bathroom, the Prince of Saiyans, her enemy? Everything that had happened in the last few hours seemed so surreal. Like it had happened to someone else. Or like waking up from a vivid dream and wondering what was real and what was part of the nightmare. 

She glanced up at the mirror, that horrible bruise staring back at her. She looked away immediately. It had to be a nightmare... The bruise throbbed and felt sickeningly hot, pain spreading constantly from it like razors and needles. No, physical pain isn't felt in dreams. Only in reality.

Reality. This was her reality? She looked up at the mirror, her brows knit and her mouth in a grim line.

Her eyes were red, and she could see dark bags beginning to appear, like dirt under thin snow. Tears still ran down, silently. Her aqua tress hung limply, sticking in odd directions. Her shoulders were slumped, weighed with gravity and exhaustion. The bruise stood out like a fat giant leach on her neck. Draining her, and pushing in it's own poison. She looked very thin and small in the room. Never had Bulma looked so incredibly fragile. 

Bulma looked at herself the way a scientist looks at a disappointing experiment. Never had she seen herself look that way. She was a shell of her former self, and briefly, she wondered if the people that loved her would recognize her. At the thought, her stomach tightened painfully and the tears quickened, beginning to pour now.

Yamcha.

How her heart called to him. She took shallow breaths, suddenly feeling like she was suffocating without him. She saw his face, his cocky grin when he caught her staring, or his sheepish smile when she caught him. Her mind went to the last time she was with him. 

They were in her room, on the bearskin carpet. For the life of her she couldn't remember what they had been talking about. No, only Yamcha stood out in her mind; the warmth of his body against hers, the murmur of his lips, the puff of his breath on her skin. 

But that was the last time. She hadn't heard anything of him. Maybe that was a good thing, if anything had happened, it would have been very big news and nothing would have kept it from her ears. Actually, if he were found on Tokoshimo, she most likely would have been questioned about it. As far as the Saiyans knew, there was no reason for him to be there.

Their engagement had been held tightly under wraps. However, whatever his father would of advised him to do, Yamcha would not have abandoned Tokoshimo the first chance he got. Her mind was suddenly stabbed with the image of Yamcha lying in the blood stained snow, his body contorted unnaturally, his eyes open wide and lifeless, surrounded by so many bodies and machines. 

A strangled sob escaped her lips, sounding like shattered glass in the silence of the small room. She squeezed her eye's shut and shook her head, concentrating on the bolts of pain that shot up and down her neck. Anything was better than the thought that Yamcha was- 

No, it couldn't be true! Her lips quivered with fear. She shook her head again, her knees buckling and she leaned on the counter for support. Her mind ran over her Father, over her friends. Images of their bodies broken and disfigured, lying in their own blood. Bulma just shook her head, her teeth clenched as violent sobs began to wrack through her body. 

At her body's growing tenseness, her neck throbbed unbearably, and she was reminded. Reminded that she was stuck with the monster that had done all this to her. To her family, to her people. An incredible sense of shame and anguish shot through her and she gripped the edge of the counter as if it was the edge of a cliff and she was dangling like a shriveled leaf on a twig. 

Bulma asked herself _why_ this was all happening. What had she ever done? What had her people done? Her mind went over the invasion, over the last hours, the ceremony, his hands all over her. She had been so utterly and completely help... un-in-control…

Despite her situation, she still couldn't stand to say that word. She refused. However, the feeling was there, and it brought her to her knees. Her hands clutched at the edge of the counter to keep her from falling. 

No, she thought tiredly, desperately. She couldn't fall. 

She pulled herself up and for the last time looked into the mirror. Her eyes widened at the sight of something that chased away the stygian shadow that had wrapped around her, suffocating her. 

Under the dip of her color bone was the thinnest of scars. It was a thin line, no longer than the width of her thumbnail. Against her pale skin, it was almost invisible, but her eyes could see it. Her hand went to it and she watched in the mirror as she traced it. She felt the most subtle of rises. 

She had her people's hope with her. She couldn't fall. She had to hold on. She turned away from the mirror and to the door that separated them. Her determination faltered for a moment. She didn't want to face him, not now (not ever). What would she do when she got out there anyway? 

She was exhausted. He would only force her into his bed. Her body shuddered with revulsion and anger at the thought. She looked around the room as if looking for a clue or an escape route. Her eyes rested on the large bathtub. 

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Vegeta woke up with a start, sitting up right. He looked immediately to the other side of the bed. Not a pillow was out of place, the blanket wasn't even dented or wrinkled. He closed his eyes willing himself to control the sudden ire. Surly it wasn't good for his health to get mad, _first_ thing in the morning.

However, everything that women did, and didn't do, was insanely infuriating.

Unbidden, his thoughts went back to last night. Wow, that was nothing like he had imagined it. What had occurred was nothing short of a disaster. The only thing that could of made it worse, had _almost_ happened. His muscles tensed as shame bit at his mind, like a pesky bug wanting to be acknowledge. 

He shook his head and tried to relax his muscles. It was _her_ fault She was the one that had repeatedly insulted him and challenged him. Did she honestly expect him to bow his head and mutter apologies? Vegeta made a disgusted face at the thought. 

His mind went over her words, her fervent refusals of him. He fisted his hands in the blanket that pooled in his lap. Not only did she refuse to acknowledge the wedding ceremony (Which she was _there_ for!), she refused to acknowledge her agreement.

That was her gravest offense. The moment he realized what she did and didn't say… Looking back he wasn't quite sure what the emotion that filled him was, all he knew was that it was consuming. He held his word, his honor, above all, he expected her to do the same. He didn't know what was more maddening, the fact that she was refusing to fulfill her agreement, or the fact that she was pretending like she never made it in the first place. 

He had been so insanely angry. The only reason he hadn't ki blasted her was because she recoiled from fear. He had barley enough sense to care about it, remembering what had happened the last time he had disregarded her fear. Actually, shocking both himself and her, he had spoken to her relatively calmly after that. He supposed it was because that horrible bruise kept staring back at him, with a vengeance. It made his insides squirm with disgust and something he really didn't what to admit: guilt. 

He had been nothing short of shocked to see her sitting in that armchair like nothing happened. Which didn't really make sense. In his anger at her, he hadn't soothed his bite. Neither had she been willing to take it, which all added up to her being in an unimaginable amount of pain. However that hadn't been the case. 

No, the Princess was standing up and yelling at him like he _hadn't_ viscously marked her. She didn't even wince in his presence. It was impressive, alarming, and infuriating all at once.

When he left her, he _wanted_ her to be in pain. To somehow feel the frustration and anger she had caused him. He wanted her to deal with the consequences of denying him. 

His eyes widened as he remembered _that_ particular offense. 

_What the hell!_

The _one_ thing he had been strongly looking forward to about taking a mate, she had denied him! Vegeta was suddenly beside himself with anger. Denied! He, the prince of Vegeta-sei, was denied! Never in his life had he been thrown aside in such a way. It didn't help that he had been particularly burning for that possession. 

Denied! 

He really could not believe it. That must have been her second offense. Not only had she pretended like he was a complete stranger, she had ignored her duty. Had she no honor! Vegeta ground his teeth. He didn't want to admit that his pride had been sorely bruised at the rejection, but he didn't know what else the feeling was. He had never been rejected before. 

Not by any women. Vegeta was simply nowhere near accustomed to being told no, in any manner. Vegeta could count on his hands the number of times he had been told 'no' throughout his entire life (ironically, almost half of them had been centered around the Ningen Princess). He let out a bitter growl. He had been so angry with her at the time, it was with disturbing ease that he had marked her and left without soothing her. 

Vegeta had fully expected to come out to see her writhing in pain, begging for his forgiveness, to beg him to soothe her, comfort her. 

She had done no such thing. 

While he had calmed down, he had begun to feel the needles of guilt about what he had done. Shame even... Doing that to your mate was simply... unjustified. Under any circumstances… For the briefest of moments his mind wondered what his mother would of thought of him, but the unusual thought was gone before it even registered. 

If there was one thing he hated feeling, it was shame. Everything Vegeta did, he did with confidence, with the knowledge that no one could refute him, he felt infallible. Vegeta just simply hated being wrong. In fact, this was the first time he was willing to acknowledge a sense of regret about his actions. 

That stupid Princess always managed to pull up odd and ridiculous emotions out of him. 

He had just been so angry with her! He tried to justify again. He ran a hand through his hair, a part of him wishing he could do it over, fix his mistake. In all honestly, he _had_ meant to soothe her when he got out of the shower. However, she had completely infuriated him all over again. Not to mention, she really didn't _look_ to be in pain. The only sign that anything was amiss was that bruise. 

Vegeta let out an aggravated sigh. If Plan A had gone into action, the whole situation could have been avoided. But no. He had to get married as soon as possible. He glanced at what he had decided was her side of the bed again, instantly reminded of her latest offense. She never came out of the bathroom! 

He stayed up waiting for her, intending to tell her that he wouldn't maul her in the middle of the night, (because she was ungrateful and didn't deserve his touch). Though, she never came out. He must have fallen asleep at some point (he hadn't slept in two days, not since they commenced the invasion), because it was around five in the morning. 

With nothing but agitation, he pushed himself off the bed and made a beeline to the bathroom. The nerve of this woman! She would rather sleep in the tub than in _his_ bed. His pride bristled. He was at the door and pressed the touch pad. It flashed red, indicating it was locked. He let out a growl. Angrily he smacked open a small door, reveling wires and circuits. He quickly rearranged a few wires and twisted a red one. The touch pad flashed green and the door swooshed open. He walked in.

There she was, curled up in the marble bathtub, looking like a sleeping cat. Her teal hair caught the light that bounced on the mirror from the window outside. Which caused an interesting spectrum of colors shimmering across her hair. She was still wearing that dress; it was now crumpled and wrinkled around her form. One arm folded under her head and the other wrapped around her waist, her back to the wall in front of him. She looked incredibly small, and so fragile. He had never seen her look fragile before... He looked at her completely unsympathetic.

So she preferred the cold hard marble to his bed? To his touch? He was fully prepared to share everything with her, and she threw it back in his face. She knew how big of an insult this was to his pride. Without so much as an expression, he reached over her feet and turned on the shower. Set on cold. 

Her eyes snapped open to reveal the brightest of blue eyes, the white tinged red. Her limbs shot out as water poured down on her face and upper body. She sputtered and cries of shock rang through the air. Vegeta crossed his arms and watched with smug pleasure. This would teach her the bathroom was not for sleeping. 

Her hand shot out and grabbed the closes object and suddenly hurled it at his face. On reflex, Vegeta pulled his head out of the way and heard the shampoo bottle smash into the opposite wall. She shot up to a sitting position and her eyes finally settled on him. 

Her body instantly tensed and her eyes widened with indignant rage. She looked so incredibly angry and hateful, he thought she was going to spontaneously combust from keeping it all in. She sat still and rigid as water poured down on her.

There. She looked fierce. Any trace of the vulnerability he had seen while she was sleeping was completely gone, and Vegeta was wondering if he had seen it at all.

"Sorry, didn't see you." He gave her a mocking smirk, his arms folded over his bare chest.

Her eye twitched. If Vegeta had been anyone else, he might have taken a step back. As it was, he simple raised an eyebrow. Her hair was getting plastered against her face and covered most of her neck. Though, it was then that Vegeta began to notice what the water was doing to her white dress. His eyes widened slightly, almost unnoticeably, as he took in her form.

His heart quickened and his tail coiled and slithered behind him. The dress clung to her and her light flesh tone was coming through. He could see the outline of her bra and pantie- Her body suddenly tensed and then her body shuddered in reaction to her own movements. His eyes jumped to her face and clouded agony was in her eyes, her teeth slightly clenched and bared. 

The cruel part of him (a large part) was satisfied to finally see her in pain, to see she was dealing with the consequences of her rejection. However the honorable part (also quite big), felt shame to see his mate in pain, physical pain that _he_ caused. 

Her eyes suddenly widened and the look of pain was replaced with one of thinly laced anger and determination. Any visible trace of pain was gone.

He was completely impressed this time. Now that he knew she was indeed in pain, it was incredible to realize that she wasn't letting it show. That bruise would have floored a Saiyan woman. His pride inflated; he thought of the various protests that were made against his choice of mate. She had just unknowingly proven them wrong.

Though, the smallest facet of his being was insulted that she was so guarded against him. 

She didn't seem to be making any motion to get out of the tub. "Well, I'm going to take a shower, you're free to join me if you like." He said, casually reaching for the draw sting of his sleeping pants. 

She suddenly leapt up so fast; she was a blur for second. In her haste to get out of there, her outstretched foot slipped on the cool tiles. Her arms shot out to catch something as she began to fall to the side. Without a thought, his hand was on her waist to steady her, she was immediately stable on her feet and she recoiled at the contact. 

He flexed his hand in surprise. She was freezing! Which shouldn't have come as such a surprise, but he felt like he had literally placed his hand on an ice sculpture. She hadn't been under the spray of water _that_ long. She snatched a red towel from a shelf and wrapped it around her as she ran to the door. Her wet hair flying off of her neck, the door shutting behind her. The back of her pale neck and that dark, grotesque, bruise imprinted in his sight.

The guilt swarmed back into his stomach and his tail wrapped around his waist at the odd uncomfortable feeling. However, he couldn't deny it. Only the lowest of Saiyans would do to their mate... And Vegeta had done that to her. He suddenly remembered the vow he had made all those years ago. 

His pride felt oddly bruised. The sense of shame one cause to themselves was always worse than any insult someone else could throw at them. He shook his head to rid himself of those feelings. She was the one at fault not him, he forcibly reminded himself trying to replace any guilt with anger. She was the one that tried to break her vow. If she had held up her obligations to him, he never would have had to do that to her. If she hadn't fought him... His anger began to shift to… something he wouldn't tolerate. He shook it off.

She _had_ fought him and now she had to deal with the consequences, what happened when she wouldn't yield to him. If she asked for forgiveness, gave in to him, he would soothe her, make all her pain go away. Replace it with pleasure. 

His muscles tensed at the thought of her beneath him, her skin pressed against his. Her hot breath on his neck and her whimpers in his ear. When he realized what he wanted, wouldn't be given to him, the thoughts left him just as quickly as they had come. 

He pulled off his pants and steeped into the cold shower. He needed it. The water washed away the heat in his stomach. He reached for the shampoo. He then remembered what had happened and looked over to the other side of the room. There on the wall was a huge splatter of transparent gel next to the mirror. The gel dripped down the wall to the busted bottle in a puddle of goop under it. 

He let out a puff of breath, a small smirk forming at his lips. She always did have a good arm on her. 

--.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.--

Kakarrot sat on the counter watching his mate pace the floor like a caged lion. She had just come from fitting the Ningen Princess for a new wardrobe. Chichi was furious. 

She had just burst into their room, her body completely tense and her eye's ablaze with righteous anger. Kakarrot didn't like when his mate was angry, it was one of the only things that really subdued his usual cheer. He silently watched her form, wondering what in the world the Ningen Princess had done. 

She suddenly stopped and turned to him. Her mouth opened and then she just let out an angry puff of breath and snapped it shut and continued pacing. Wow, he hadn't seen her this angry in a long time. He patiently waited for her, his mind trying to conjure up scenarios that could lead to Chichi's intense ire. 

The Ningen Princess was infamous for being a spoiled, arrogant brat. Shallow and vain, and even worse, she had a mouth on her. A big one. Kakarrot found her amusing. However, Kakarrot was a rare type of Saiyan. A _very_ rare type, and what he found amusing, other (normal) Saiyans found enraging. One of the reasons he was chosen to deal with her later that day. 

But right now he was faced with a angry mate and he sought to mollify her. The Princess probably said something to set his mate off-

She spoke suddenly; her voice clipped "I mean, I don't like her any better than the rest of us do, but..." 

Kakarrot lifted a brow. Now he had no idea were this was heading. Chichi spoke again, this time a hiss of anger. 

"She was _bruised._"

Kakarrot didn't say anything. He merely took on a more somber expression. To be honest, he wasn't completely surprised. Vegeta wasn't known to be gentle with anything. However, it hadn't ever crossed his mind that Vegeta would ever strike the Princess. Actually, Kakarrot did find it... odd, but it certainly wasn't impossible. Prince Vegeta was extremely well known for his temper and, disregard for others. Not only was the Princess fully capable of setting him off, Kakarrot knew her to have disregard for her own safety. It was like asking a match and dynamite to get along.

However, Chichi too knew Vegeta's nature, and she had much less reason to find the bruising odd. So Kakarrot was wondering why the Princess condition would upset her this much.

Chichi caught his questioning look "I mean... He didn't soothe her." Her voice was a hiss of sympathy and anger.

Kakarrot was taken back. That was unusually cruel, even for Vegeta. In fact, he found it hard to believe that Vegeta would do that to the Ningen princess. In a language that only Kakarrot was able to decode, Vegeta had expressed interest in her. Kakarrot even liked to think that the Prince had had some genuine feelings for her. Apparently that was wishful thinking.

"I was surprised that we were summoned so early in the morning, I mean, it was the morning after their wedding night and all." Chichi added with a dismissive shrug. "Luffa and me knocked on the door this morning talking about how we would do the measurements as quickly as possible. The Prince was already out of there. We went in and we froze when we saw that horrible bruise."

"So did you find her passed out or something?" Kakarrot finally spoke, his brows dipping in concern. 

Since she had first burst into their room, Chichi's tense shoulders finally slumped and her lip sunk from its feral snare. Sudden realization and confusion was in her eyes. "Actually..." her brow furrowed even more as she thought about what she was going to say.

"What?"

"She was... She didn't convey any pain… We did the whole fitting with her complying to our directions without so much as a whimper... " His mate looked utterly confused, Kakarrot was too. He was under the impression that the bite was mind-blowingly painful. That is, unless the proper procedure was taken before and after. 

"I guess it doesn't hurt that much." He said with an easy shrug. He instantly regretted it when Chichi's eyes snapped to him, her body on the offensive. 

"_Oh_, it hurts! When you marked me, the only reason I didn't pass out was because I wanted it and you soothed it." She said in a matter-of-fact-tone, hands on her hips, "You remember my cousin Okra? While she wanted it, her brute of a mate didn't soothe her!"

Kakarrot's eyes widened. He _did_ remember her. Her neck was a monstrous black bruise and she was completely incapacitated. That strong Saiyan women had been so incredibly weakened, in so much pain, it had almost killed her. 

"I guess that rumor is true then, that Ningens have a insanely high threshold for pain." Kakarrot said thoughtfully. That rumor had been skirting around for as long as he could remember, but no one really believed it. 

Chichi gave him an odd look, then another one that made him think she caught a whiff of something spoiled. "But Ningens are so weak, how can that be true?"

"Well, what else could it be? You say she was acting like it didn't even happen."

"Just at the end... Luffa accidentally brushed against her bruise and the Princess collapsed in such a fit of pain, she would of split her head open on the floor if I hadn't caught her." His mate supplied. She didn't seem to want to believe a Ningen could take something her own flesh and blood couldn't. "I think she thought Luffa did it on purpose because the Princess gave her the dirtiest glare. But neither Luffa or I would wish pain like that on our own enemy."

"She's not our enemy anymore." Kakarrot supplied with a shrug. "Actually, she'll be our Queen someday, huh?" He gave her a goofy grin to get the tension out of the air. It wasn't like either could do much about the situation.

Chichi was quite for a moment studying him. Despite marrying him and knowing him more intimately than any other being, she was occasionally, like any other Saiyan, taken back at his un-Saiyan like nature. Many people would still not acknowledge the Ningen as the Saiyan Princess she had become yesterday. 

Her eyes snapped with a sudden fire as she remembered something. 

"Oh, I guess it don't hurt that much!" She repeated him in a mocking voice, rolling her eyes. "You are such a _guy. _Try to imagine your spine being ripped out, and then living like that till the person that caused it decided to have some mercy."

Kakarrot winced. He really couldn't shake off the surprise that Vegeta would do that to her. Maybe he didn't realize how painful it actually was. As Chichi had stated, in not so many words, men seemed to be largely unaware of how much the procedure hurt. She turned to the small kitchen they had, her rant apparently done, but anger still in her shoulders.

He got up from where he leaned against the wall and wrapped his arms around his mate. She instantly relaxed and looked over her shoulder at him. 

"Did it really hurt that much when I marked you?" He whispered, his brows dipped in concern. He brushed his lips against his mark, barely running the tip of his tongue over it, soothingly. She melted to his touch, leaning against his muscled chest and giving him more access. She let out a slightly strangled breath as she smiled.

"It was different." She murmured, "It was right." 

--.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.--

Bulma stood in a black towel, slightly refreshed after a lukewarm shower. After her fitting that morning, numerous chests of new clothes were brought to the room. They were filled mostly with dresses and at her request she was given more casual wear, such as shorts and pants. Bulma preferred clothes that wrapped around her body as oppose the flowy dresses. Simply because she was used to cold winds and crisp biting air.

She searched through one of the chest and found a light hooded blouse with long sleeves. It reminded her of home, with it's soft white color and the cover it provided. She then grabbed a pair of black trousers and slipped on the pair of white boots, tucking the pants into them, making them poof out a bit. She flipped the hood up over turquoise locks (she had always had a fondness for hoods). 

A huge yawn escaped her mouth and then her face turned to sneer as she remembered the morning. After having a horrible night's sleep (if you could call, closing your eyes and trying to forget your surroundings, sleep), she was violently awoken. 

By him.

The bastard. She had woken up a few hours before from a horrible nightmare. Though, the second time she had fallen asleep, she was dreaming that she was home, with Yamcha. Needless to say she was not pleased when the first thing her eyes registered was the Saiyan Prince. She was so disoriented and hadn't processed what was going on quickly enough, that all she could do was glare at him in anger. She hadn't even given him a proper hatful glare or any biting words. Then he had looked over her body like that; her only reaction was to flee. The sudden movement had cause incredible pain and soreness in her entire body.

Which made her remember that he was the one that did that to her and _still_ all she could do was glare. It wasn't even a good one. It wasn't until he left the room that she got her wits back, ready to fight and have a screaming match. 

There was a knock at the door, disturbing her from her dark mood. "Come in." 

The door opened to reveal a tall man. He had broad shoulders and wore the typical Saiyan armor. His was black and blue without any shoulder pads. He had on black shorts and blue-tipped black boots. His hair was odder than most Saiyans (which was saying something) because it had a random rounded spot and the rest was rather spiky. 

Bulma tilted her head slightly to the side as she looked at him with a raise eyebrow; he was oddly familiar... 

"Hi there!" He called out cheerfully with a stupid grin on his face, "I'm Kakarrot, your Bulma!" He seemed peculiarly excited and happy to see her. 

For a moment, Bulma was taken back at his disregard for regal protocol. At the space station, she saw him there, she concluded and then dismissed the thought without further ado. 

"It's your Highness." She sneered, her tone icy. The last time she had demand to be addressed like that was when she was five. Her father grounded her for a month. Never was she allowed to show any contempt for someone simply because they were below her station. However, species was another thing entirely.

"Oh, my bad." He said, smiling sheepishly, one hand behind his head. He was completely unfazed by her rude attitude. "I'm to show you around the castle."

Bulma didn't bother to dwell on his out of place friendliness. "You actually think I want to see this primitive cave?" She looked at him like something insect she found under a rock. 

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun." He said with that same stupid grin, completely disregarding her comment.

Bulma's brow furrowed in confusion. That comment would of sent any self-respecting Saiyan wanting her blood. Not only did she insult his culture and technological advances, but the Royal Family. He didn't even bat an eyelash.

"What do you say?" He asked instead, as if they were old friends.

For what seemed like a long moment, Bulma just stared at him. Her brow deeply dipped in suspicious confusion. She didn't really know how to react to him. On one side, Bulma deeply resented treating someone so outgoing and friendly with scorn, especially since he had yet to do anything against her personally. However, the other side saw only his tail wrapped around his waist, and a five-year harden grudge was burning her conscious and compassion to ash.

However her compassion and conscious was strong, and she couldn't bring herself to slam the door in his face. So she settled on giving him a hard glare. She opened her mouth to add an insult, but he cut her off.

"Or you can stay in Vegeta's room all day." He said with a shrug, then smiled sympathetically "But a good walk with help you adjust to the gravity better."

It was at that comment that Bulma realized how bad she was slouching, She quickly shot up, her back gave a loud crack as her spin straightened. She bit her lip as pain shot through her neck like someone sliced it open with a blade dipped in vinegar. She pushed that to the back of her mind. However now that he brought her attention back to the gravity, she found it a bit more difficult to ignore the pressure on her body, her muscles crying out in protest. 

She sent a spiteful glare when she realized that he had seen how bad the gravity was affecting her. He didn't react.

Bulma quickly weighed her options. Stay in _his_ room, like some concubine waiting for him to comeback (she sneered at the thought, noting but hate filling her being), or look around the palace and let her body move under the strain of gravity. The quicker her body adjusted, the better (just because she was good at ignoring pain, didn't mean she didn't feel it). Plus, it would be best to know the layout of the palace, where the docking bay was, the labs and such. Without a word she closed the door behind her 

The Saiyan gave her a big grin, "Great! Let's start in the east wing."

He began to walk a few paces ahead, but Bulma was glued to her spot in front of the door. The moment she had walked out of the room, she was reminded how disgustingly hot it was on the planet. The heat hadn't even entered her mind since she took that shower yesterday. It was then that she realized that the Prince's room was finely air conditioned and the throne room had been as well. 

Irrationally, Bulma felt like screaming _'Why isn't the hall air conditioned!'_

However, she restrained herself and simply gave the massive window in front of her a venomous glare. She felt beads of sweat slowly slide down her back and instantly regretted her choice of clothing. She sighed, at least her pants were loose and didn't cling to her skin. The fabric of her blouse was equally light and airy. 

"Something wrong?" The Saiyan asked curiously, his brow dipping slightly.

Something wrong? Where the hell should she start? Though, the latest thing to the list was how the entire planet was out to get her! Bulma didn't want him to know how much she was affected by the natural climate, along with the gravity. So she sent him another glare and followed after him. He simply smiled and began to walk again when she was at his side, as if she had sweetly said 'Oh, everything is dandy! Please lead the way, kind Sir!'

It was beginning to become infuriating. 

"This is the Royal Hall, only the royal chambers are on this floor. It's a huge circle, well, square really. If you keep following the hall you'll pass King Vegeta's chambers, a few empty room reserved for incredibly important guest and then you'll come back to Prince Vegeta's room." He explained as they passed a guest room. "You know, come to think of it, I've never seen anyone stay in the guest rooms, well before you anyway. Though, you didn't even spend the night in that room." He shrugged dismissively "Any Dignitaries and such stay one floor down."

Bulma looked at the windows that lined the inside of the square corridors. She wasn't nearly as observant as she would of liked to have been the first time she had been escorted. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a lot of green outside the window, she supposed that was the courtyard. She couldn't really turn to look, not wanting to waste the energy as she fought against gravity. Though she could see the sun gleaming off the windows across the courtyard

"How come there's no guards on this floor?" Bulma asked curiously, that would be a good thing to know.

The Saiyan began to chuckle. "Both Vegetas are fully capable of protecting themselves. Besides, no one is actually allowed on this floor unless requested by the Royal Family. " He led her to some stairs. "There are stairs at each corner of the hall." 

They went down, Bulma gripping the rail. She was slightly afraid that the gravity would pull her head over heels toppling down. At the end of the stairs there were two guards. The Saiyan nodded to them and the guards looked over Bulma with both awe and suspicion. She glared at them with contempt.

"There's guards at the bottom of all the stairs, mostly for lookin' official." The Saiyan said honestly, causing both guards to shift their glares from her to him. He didn't even notice. Bulma let out a light snort. At least it wasn't only her hostility that he ignored.

As they walked around the full loop, he went on to explain the floor, going though a quick list of Dignitaries that had stayed there. He didn't know any by name and just said their species or if he didn't know that, he just described them. Bulma was only half listening, wondering why the heck he was her tour guide to begin with.

"Then there was that scaly purple guy. Well, it might have been a girl, it had really long lashes and a voice like a bird, but it was really hairy. It had a tail too, I think it was from the Pajaro Sector."

"It was a Dubian, they're from the Pesca Sector." Bulma corrected with snobby look. 

"Yeah, well he smelled like moss. Or _it_ smelled-"

"It was female, the males don't have lashes." 

"Oh." He paused thoughtfully as if committing the fact to memory, though when he spoke again, she swore he forgot it "Then there was the Vaspertilian! What was his name? He was a good guy. Really great sense of humor, even made Vegeta laugh…"

"Prince Demetri." Bulma supplied. Her mood lightening up just the slightest. She, herself, was fond of him and his family. 

"Yeah!" He exclaimed, eyes bright. "He was pretty easy going, I liked him a lot." 

Bulma noted that unlike the floor above, this one had many guards. "Is any one staying here now?" Bulma asked curious. 

"Nah," He shrugged "They're just protocol." The Saiyan brought them to the stairs that had come down from, and then led her over to a nearby elevator. "The Royal Hall is the only floor without an elevator," The door shut behind them. 

"Next is the advisor's floor." He stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall and stopped at a big black door.

"This is my room, if you ever need anything." His words were simple; however, he gave her a smile so sincere and warm, that for a small moment, Bulma completely forgot her situation. She forgot _who_ she was and _what_ he was. His familiarity bit at her mind and it was with alarming effort that Bulma had to push it out of her mind, and remind herself of her situation.

However, she couldn't bring herself to glare or scowl at him, but with a look of suspicion, she merely nodded at him. Then out of the blue another thought occurred to her, shaking her out of her revere.

"You're an advisor?" She asked making a face of disbelief. He was very young, and didn't have any sort of elegant air around him. His demeanor reminded her of some kid that wandered off the street and decide to just play it cool. Not to mention the fact that he had no idea what Dignitaries had stayed in the guest rooms, names that the servants of her castle knew.

He laughed and gave her a rascally grin, then shook his head "No." He didn't elaborate anymore than that. He lead her to another elevator without hesitation.

"The next floor is the Elite's Chambers, it's the same square as the last three, but with more rooms. No need see the same design for a fourth time." While his tone was the same casual one he had been using since the tour began, Bulma couldn't help but feel he wasn't being completely honest. Why wouldn't he want her to be on that floor? 

Oh. The thought occurred to her that she had indirectly been responsible for the death of hundreds of Elites. The thought spurred on a sense of pride and she couldn't help but smirk. She supposed she wasn't going to be the Elite's favorite person anytime soon. 

The door opened and the next floor had much more people wandering about. They walked out and everyone seemed to stop, mid step, mid word, mid everything to look at Bulma. If she hadn't been born a princess and grown up with such scrutiny, she would off shrank away or been intimidated. As it was, she simply held her chin up high and followed after the Saiyan.

He didn't seem to notice the Saiyan's reaction to her, or her reaction to them. He simply carried on with his friendly demeanor as if it was still just the two of them. The behavior was so strange, why wasn't he acting like the other Saiyans? Come to think of it, he hadn't even bee awe struck at the door, or clipped and straight to the point like the women that were sent to her. 

"Alright, instead of just a square, this floor branches out, each corner of the square is a four way." He led her down the massive hall. This one was much wider and the ceiling higher than the last few floors. Bulma did her best to pretend not to notice any of the other Saiyans about. There were guards, maids, soldiers, all sorts of workers. Each was _still_ looking at them. 

For the briefest of moments, it occurred to her that they should have been bowing to her, at least a nod of respect, not their stares and glares. Well, whatever, she really didn't care right now. 

"Hungry?" The Saiyan leading her suddenly asked, a hopeful look in his eye.

Bulma shrugged. When was the last time she had eaten? She wasn't sure, still, she didn't have much of an appetite. 

"Silence always means yes." The Saiyan joked, clearing having enough appetite for the both of them. He began to lead her in a new direction. "Let's go to the soldier's kitchen." He paused for a moment, almost making Bulma bump into him. Then shrugged to himself and kept walking. Bulma didn't bother to ask. 

Soon they were at a double door, and the Saiyan led her in. It was a tall and wide room, a few stoves and ovens lined the walls, along with sinks and in the center were three enormous islands. Pots and pans hung from rails above the islands and there were many women and a few young girls and children bustling about. 

Before they could even advanced five paces, someone yelled out. "Get out of here, Kakarrot! We're setting up the next round, you can wait half an hour!" 

"Aww, come on! The Princess is hungry." He shouted back. The clatter of pots and pans seized and everyone stared at Bulma again. Well, this is getting old, Bulma thought staring back at them. 

Kakarrot seemed unfazed and lead her though the kitchen. The silence was thick as everyone watched their movements. The Saiyan picked up a plate of a large bird that looked like it would feed 10 to 15 people and then walked over to another large double door, opposite to the one in which they entered, and led her out. 

They entered a mammoth of a dining hall filled with eight gigantic long tables. A few Saiyans were in there, spread out in small clusters around the room, seemingly waiting for the next meal. Her tour guide was once again oblivious to their stares and sat down on the bench. He motioned for her to join him. 

"This is the soldiers dinning hall, the Royal one is being used right now. So I didn't think you'd want to be in there." He said offhandedly as he offered her the whole plate of bird. She raised a brow at him and realized that he was completely right. She had no desire to be any where near the Royal Family.

She couldn't help but be utterly confused by his considerate action for a moment, but then she figured he just wanted to eat and wasn't allowed to in the Royal Dinning Hall. 

"No thanks." Bulma said, the manners reflexively coming out of her. He seemed to expect it and dug into the bird himself. For a few moments Bulma watched him eat with morbid fascination. Saiyans were notorious for their appetite, but... The sounds of his teeth grinding, the smell of the meat, the pop of bones pulled out of place. Bulma grimaced in disgust as he shoved more and more meat in his mouth. She couldn't look away. Before she knew it he was gnawing on the bones and the bird, which had been the width of her forearm, was nothing but a pile of bones. 

When he was done, he wiped his hands on a napkin and sat up. "That should hold me till the next meal." He declared brightly.

She looked at him as if his tail had grown a mouth and was talking to her. "That was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen." Bulma declared wide-eyed, her without emotion. "You devoured that thing with your bare hands in ten minutes."

He simply sent her a sheepish smile, though it suddenly turned impish. "You ain't seen nothing yet. Wait till the banquet tonight." 

--.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.--

.To Be Continued. 

--.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.—

Really sorry this took so long. I'm iffy on this chapter, more was suppose to happen. It's all getting pushed till the next one, which will hopefully come out in a more timely manner. Also if you see any errors, please tell me so I can fix them. 

Thank you to everyone for their encouraging reviews, it really does help to get this out sooner. When I'd feel my attention slip to something else, I'd go read some reviews and then I would get the will to get this story out of my head and onto your computer screen. So keep em coming!

By the way, Luffa is a type of Vegetable. 


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** – These damn chapters keep getting longer. Enjoy!

**.Disclaimer. **

--.....--

.Chapter Five.

--.....—

Vegeta clipped the red cape onto his shoulder armor. He frowned at the mirror, the reflection showing the tension in his body. His stomach rolled uncomfortably; perhaps with nerves, or maybe apprehension. Whatever it was, all he knew was he wasn't looking forward to tonight.

It was the formal banquet.

Granted, he was a trained prince; protocol was ingrained into his bones and manners hammered into his subconscious. While he didn't enjoy the stuffy formalities, he was used to them. He was as comfortable in the spotlight as he was bored. Though, he had a feeling this particular formal dinner would be anything but boring, and not in a good way.

He pulled at his cape in agitation.

At one point he had looked forward to this dinner. It would have simply been a celebration of the end of the war. The first victorious feast in a series of many. The Princess would have been at his side, a public symbol of Tokoshimo coming under his rule.

With his orders, she would have been granted the protection and respect of a foreign dignitary, a representative of her planet. Not only would it of been a chance to show off her beauty and wit, but a chance for her to prepare and learn the ways of Saiyan nobility.

Now… It wasn't just a celebration of victory, but of his wedding. And that complicated things.

The Princess, as a political guest, or even as political hostage, if Vegeta order his Saiyans to die for her, they would (lest they die in a slow painful matter at _his_ hands). His subjects, his elite, _knew_ not to challenge him with such things. The nobility had tried when he was younger and Vegeta had more than proved himself. The Prince had not only met their challenges with his own strength, but with ruthless intelligence. His intimidation would have extended to the Princess and his subjects would have known not to mess with her.

Though, now she wasn't just his guest, but _their_ Princess. His mate and officially their future Queen. There had been no chance for introducing her to the nobility as a consort, or even get the Saiyan elite used to the idea of bowing down to a Ningen Queen. Whether he liked it or not, she was being thrown to the wolves.

His Elite subjects were entitled to judge their Queen and see if she was worthy of ruling over them. She would be challenged. Not only was that worrying enough, Vegeta knew that many doubted his decision in taking a Ningen women, of all species. Not only because of the grudge, but of the lack of physical prowess. He had killed all those who were vocal in their opinions, but ultimately he knew that only she could remove their doubt, only she could prove herself.

It was with severe annoyance that Vegeta had to accept that this wasn't something that he could just order and will on his people. Respect couldn't be demanded, no matter the power. It had to be earned (Frieza was a grand example of this). He couldn't argue with it either or kill anyone that did challenge her. It was an unofficial tradition to test every new Queen in the manner of carefully worded traps of humiliation and disgrace.

His mother had gone through it and so would the Princess. She would have to prove both intelligence and an elegant sense of ruthlessness. While she was socially allowed to be warmer and more merciful to her subjects, she still had to have a brutality towards her enemies. A Saiyan Queen was supposed to be strong enough to be the support and aid of the King.

His elite expected such a women, and would see if the Princess could hold her own. If everything had gone according to Plan A, Vegeta would not have been worried. He knew the Princess to be strong, determined and intelligent, however, he also knew that she was kind and too trusting of the people around her. The only weapon she had was her own (unfounded) grudge against himself and his people. Though that was a double edge sword. She didn't have the power and intimidation to back up her arrogance and that razor-sharp tongue.

He couldn't help her now. The few hours they had had together, were _not_ what he would call productive in strengthening their bond, or preparing her to handle Saiyan affairs. If the Princess wasn't so difficult, if she would yield to him and allow him to guide her… Vegeta let out a growl of frustration.

No, she blatantly refused him and now she had to face the wolves by herself.

--.....—

Vegeta sat at his Father's right hand. He listened with one ear to the polite conversation around him. His face was schooled into cold indifference, his body deceptively relaxed in his chair. His eyes were lit up with the smallest sense of anxiety and bore into the empty chair in front of him.

He tried to crush the apprehension in his stomach. Distantly, he wondered how exactly so many things got pushed onto this dinner. It was the first celebration of the end of the war, the first of his wedding celebrations and the introduction of his mate and the future Queen. His stomach spun uncomfortably as he noted that no matter the outcome of the dinner, there would be more of them to come.

He looked over the table, at the strongest of his Elite. A banquet of this prestige included the four Strategos. The planet Vegeta-sei was sparsely populated and therefore divided into five provinces. His Father ruled the main province and the Strategos ruled over theirs and reported to his Father. This was the highest of formalities within the circle of Saiyan nobility.

This was the one that really mattered. His mate had to do more than merely meet their challenges, her performance had to be high and above any Saiyan women to garner the same respect. Vegeta wasn't quite sure what he would do if she failed, but truthfully, he didn't really contemplate it. He just would have liked her to be as fully prepared as possible, that she would pull strength from him.

Though, they weren't on the best of terms at the moment. He was still peeved with her, and, well, _maybe_ she had a bit of reason to be angry with him (_now_ anyway). But that was between them, and in front of their subjects, they were to be united.

That was another reason to feel a bit of apprehension about her introduction. She wasn't happy with him and the Princess had never been one to be fake with her feelings. He did not want anyone to know of how she refused him so. How she had been… disgusted with marrying him. His countenance soured at the thought. Oh, yes, he was still incredibly irritated with her. He smoothed out his face back into the mask of apathy.

No one was to know that they had marital problems fifteen minutes into the marriage. Vegeta almost rolled his eyes in frustration at the conclusion. It really was fifteen minutes, wasn't it? He reached for his wine glass.

The grand madder-red double doors opened, stopping Vegeta mid reach as his head snapped to the side. All heads at the table were turned, and it wasn't the gold trim on the door they were staring at.

"Princess Bulma, former Princess of Tokoshimo-sei and future Queen of Vegeta-sei."

Her chin was held high, her shoulders thrown back and her spine straight. Her hair was down, brushing against her shoulders and hiding the base of her neck. The aqua ringlets caught the light from the massive chandelier, sparkling to a diamond blue. A multitude of thin bracelets hung around both wrist and wide bans of gold adorned her upper arms. Her dress was a strapless of the riches vermillion. The bodice was smooth and streamline, making her torso look long and graceful. Wrapped around and emphasizing her hips was scarlet chiffon, puckering around her curves and tied in a knot in the center, the loose fabric draping down the middle.

Vegeta's breath caught in his throat and his ears didn't miss the soft gasp that even the women took. It didn't even occur for him to be smug, she was so mesmerizing. Absolutely gorgeous. Though, her eyes were hard, dancing with latent hostility. They contrasted exquisitely with her long feminine lashes and the soft contours of her face.

With her chin tilted up and slightly to the side, her hooded eyes narrowed slightly, pinpointing on him. Vegeta's obsidian eyes widened a fraction and locked with her own azure. She sent him a smoldering glare, making his stomach jump with excitement and his skin heat with desire.

The room was tense, the occupants waiting on her every breath. Her presence was powerful and demanded nothing less than that. She looked away from him and marched forward with the fierce elegance of a goddess. Her hips swayed and her shoulders rolled back with arrogance as she stomped down on the black marble.

His Father stood up suddenly, causing everyone else to scramble up and out of their seats. Vegeta slowing pushed himself up, his eyes following her movements a she came to the empty chair in front of him. His Father pulled it out for her and once he sat back down at the head of the table, everyone else did as well.

For a long moment there was a thick silence as the people gazed at her in awe. Vegeta didn't notice, because now she was radiating anger and while her face was controlled into one of a diplomat, he could see the subtle dip of her brow, the tension in her jaw. She stared at him, a barley concealed glower. He relished in it, forgetting the audience.

He expected she was angry about her introduction. He knew her to be almost as prideful as he was, that former Princess of Tokoshimo stuff must have pissed her off. Which was why he requested it. He had done it out of spite. Petty move, he'd admit. But like he said, he was still peeved with her.

However, her fierceness in that red dress was nothing short of igniting. He allowed a smug smirk to roll lazily over his features. Her eyes widened momentarily before they narrowed again. He almost laughed out loud. She got mad so easily. His mood was getting higher and higher by the minute, his pride for her growing. Not only was she the most beautiful woman in the room, she managed to intimidate the Elite with only her confidence and presence. And he had been worried!

He supposed she startled them with her anger and hostility, and captivated them with her beauty. While everyone knew of the rumors of her aesthetic gifts, they didn't really do her justice. They had expected a young spoiled brat. Though, even _that_ rumor didn't really prepare them for her stubborn will and her reckless arrogance. They must have been expecting her to come in like a shy mouse, that they would actually intimidate _her_. Vegeta almost laughed again.

"How was the tour, Princess?" His Father began cordially.

Her glare shifted swiftly from Vegeta to his Father. Then, like a light switch, her glower melted and her face was one of a polite ambassador. "Lovely."

Vegeta lifted a brow as his Father simply nodded. Was she going to play nice now? Perhaps she would simply be turning to a more passive aggressive approach. Either way, he was amused by her behavior and watched eagerly what she would do next.

"Was Kakarrot your guide?" Sorrel asked with a crooked smirk. He was the eldest and most laidback of the Strategos; which was why he was seated next to the Princess

She nodded.

"An oddly infuriating fool, isn't he?" Sorrel sent her a wolfish smirk. While he was more nonchalant than most Saiyans, he still had a cruel and sarcastic sense of humor. "Makes you wonder how in the world Burdock managed to sire such an imbecile."

"Though, Kakarrot is a constant source of entertainment."

Vegeta glanced at the elderly women beside Sorrel. While her ebony hair was beginning to turn a charcoal, her dark eyes were still vibrant with life. With a casual elegance she roped in her mordant mate. Sorrel sent Malva a grin, even in age his baleful recklessness was still bright in his black eyes.

"My Liege." A deep voice drawled. Vegeta didn't bother to turn to his right to see the bulky owner of the voice (not that he really could have seen over Eruca anyway). "In what manner do you wish to precede with the victory celebrations?"

Vegeta watched the Princess carefully. The test had begun. That jab was sent to rub in her defeat, try to knock her down a few pegs. Figures it would be Callion to attack her first, the arrogant bastard.

The Princess didn't even bother to look in Callion's direction. Her gaze lazily rolled over to his Father. The look she sent him was so high and mighty; it was as if she was expecting the King to ask her permission first. Vegeta smirked with delight at her audacity. Only the Prince himself dared to act disrespectful to the King of Vegeta-sei. _That_ was a particularly dangerous line to tread, and the skill to balance on it could not be taught, but bred. Vegeta was very pleased with her.

His Father simply gave her the same look back, a small smile sliding on his face for a moment. However, it was gone when he addressed Callion again. "I will leave that matter up to my son." The King did not elaborate. Though, Vegeta knew why.

It was him after all that had led the invasion. Not to mention, it was also him who would be dealing with the angry Princess after the fact. She was looking at him now, her eyes almost unnoticeably narrowed on him. On one hand, he could declare a two week celebration, the most extravagant of all celebrations. Which in turn, he was sure, would drive her even further away from him. He knew that would be like rubbing salt in the wound and dousing it with alcohol.

On the other hand, he could let this feast be the only celebration and simply give his people a week off. It down played the victory, but no one would dare argue with him. This route would soften her up more, make her more inclined to let her guard down.

"I wish to celebrate as soon as possible." Vegeta began tactfully, all eyes on him. "However, it is not only a celebration of the victory, but also of my wedding. Therefore more solemn festivities are in order. A boisterous festival is not suitable, neither is the bacchanalia those tend to end up being."

Vegeta glanced at the Princess to see one fine brow raised in his direction. "A week of respite for all classes will be held."

Vegeta disregarded the Elite's reaction to the tame celebration. He could careless what they thought. They could hold their own celebration and balls within their provinces (it just wouldn't be official nor would it be an annual event). The Prince watched her expression, her reaction. It was the only one that mattered.

Though, she wasn't smiling adoringly at him (not that he _really_ expected that), but looking over him with barley concealed scorn. The fact that it was a formal dinner and he had been raised to act a certain way when attending one, kept him from calling her out on her blatant ungratefulness. He felt the tension of annoyance in his brow. Gah, the nerve of this woman…

"That sounds good." Agreed a causal voice. Vegeta looked a few seats down the table to see Kale. "My men need some rest after that mission on Dubai. They're still reeling from the effects of that atmosphere."

Callion sent the youngest of the Strategos a bored look. Almost as if he was disappointed that his comment had no hidden challenge to the Princess. Kale didn't really notice and Vegeta doubted that he even realized what kind of test was going on around him. Kale wasn't of noble birth; however the Prince did hold a certain amount of respect for the young man.

"My, has it already been _four days_ since your men returned?" Drawled a sultry voice. Vegeta watched as Kale's eyes narrowed at the implication of the question. Before Kale could defend himself with logical facts, the sultry voice went on, "I assume that research helped destroy many of the weapons on Tokoshimo." Another stab at the Princess.

The Princess's gaze rolled over lazily, over Vegeta, Eruca and Callion, to settle on the speaker. Aralia, Callion's concubine. The Princess's eyes were hooded, her dark lashed obscuring the perfect blue. She spoke, her tone tactfully elegant and cool.

"Dubai's atmosphere is only the inspiration for the ki-draining weapons. Understanding how the gases in the air pull at the planet's natural ki to fortify its defenses against the sun," she explained, though, Vegeta knew it was mostly to show off her intelligence. "won't show any weakness in neither the defensive or the offensive machinery."

"Apparently it did." Aralia said, he could hear the gilded smile in her voice.

"Actually, an electronic pulse had affected the technology on Tokoshimo- Oh, do you know what that is?" The Princess asked innocently, her eyes fully open and her mouth in a small 'o'. Her tone perfectly measured between sincere concern and mocking sweetness. Vegeta smirked.

He wished he was sitting at the head of the table, that way he of could see the way Aralia's eye twitched. "A Pulse? Is that what did it? I'm disappointed." Her voice held concern that would have fooled Vegeta if he didn't know better. "Isn't Tokoshimo the most advanced planet in the universe? I mean, was?"

The worlds seemed to roll off the Princess like water. She didn't even blink, but countered "I saw that a Saiyan Space Station was stock full of Ningen Technology, depending on it really." Her voice was both icily accusing and tactfully polite. Then it shifted to the same innocently mocking one "Granted, it wasn't being used to its full potential, but it was a good effort on your part."

Vegeta's smirk faltered. He was hoping she would have kept her veiled insults personal, rather than a general one towards his people. That one got the whole table silently bristling.

Sorrel turned towards her "Ahh Princess," He began in a teasing tone, "You Ningens were always so paranoid, hoarding your machines like rats. But I guess I can't blame you, look what happened when your secrets got out." He gave her a puckish smile.

Callion joined in, while his tone was as if he was talking to an old friend, it was laced with malice. "It's alright Princess, it was a good effort on your Ningens part, after all it took a _full day_ to conquer the _whole_ planet."

Her eyes visibly narrowed on him. "Callion, was it?" She began her tone casual "You sent men to attack the eastern hemisphere a year ago… how did that end again?" She gave him a warm smile "Oh, yes. I believe your ship was the only one to make it back."

Vegeta could feel Callion bristling, even with a Saiyan between them. The Princess had delivered a massive blow to Callion's pride. Speaking of the defeat was practically outlawed in his province. Vegeta and his Father were the only ones that dared to ever bring up the topic with him.

Vegeta sent Bulma a grin of approval.

As luck would have it, it was that moment that the food arrived. So the conversation naturally paused, and Callion ran out of time to retort a proper comeback. It would have been rather humorous for Callion to suddenly yell out "Your face!" _now_.

Vegeta paid no attention to the copious amounts of lavish foods that were brought. As always everyone waited till his Father took his first bite, then began on their own meals. He picked up a knife and began to cut into the tender meat. This was another thing he hated about formal banquets, you had to eat so damn slowly. If there was one person in his family linage that Vegeta would want to disown and vanquish of the planet, it would have to be the damn King that introduced "manners" and eating utensils to his people. Completely unnecessary.

He glanced up from his meal to see that the Princess was simply looking at her plate, as if she was trying to figure out what it was. Her gaze then shifted to the other Saiyans and she watched them eating with a subtle mixture of confusion and surprise. Apparently, she expected them to growl over their food and eat with their bare hands. Which really, on any other given day, Vegeta would of. So he wasn't offended.

"Was any of the research on Dubai put to use in the finale invasion?" Kale spoke up. Vegeta could tell he was genuinely interested. Though, if the comment stung the Princess that was fine by him

Eruca spoke, his deep voice piercing the air. Vegeta's eyes snapped to the tall Saiyan beside him. The man was always so quite, if it wasn't for his strong signature Ki Vegeta would have forgotten him completely.

"The research was instrumental in conducting the pulse."

It was at this comment that the Princess whipped her head away from her plate and locked onto Eruca. Her eyes were questioning and then quickly turned calculating. It was clear her mind was no longer on the people around her. Vegeta could practically see the gears turning in her mind.

Eruca went on, turning to Vegeta "We are currently updating the Genghis Fleet, using the technology gained from the war. The compatibility of the newer scanners and radars are proving to be a bit cumbersome. Is Burdock looking into it?"

Vegeta recalled an earlier conversation with the head of the Science Department. This was a meeting betweens heads of state, Burdock was not required to be there. "Yes. Though I know he was looking into updating the regeneration tanks first."

"Rather practical, that Burdock, isn't he?" Sorrel commented as he lifted his wineglass. "With the tournament coming up and all."

Oh yeah. Vegeta had completely forgotten about it. It was this year? His mind had been so occupied lately. This would be the first year that the Prince was eligible to compete. He smirked to himself. Vegeta looked over at the Princess. She still had that calculating look in her eye, clearly still caught on the last conversation.

"The preliminaries are going on in your province aren't they, eh Sorrel?" Kale asked enthusiastically, it would be his first year competing as well, having just missed the last one. "Any stand outs?"

"A few." Sorrel said with a careless shrug.

"Don't look so serious Princess, I'm sure you'll enjoy the tournament. After all, this year will have all those new Ningen updates. You'll feel right at home."

The Princess's eyes snapped up and focused on Aralia. And the test began again.

--.....—

She slammed the door behind her. Bulma was pissed.

She stormed over to the bedroom's sitting area. The entire dinner they were goading her, insulting her, she was on the edge of control. She had been so close to getting up on her chair and lunging across the table at so many throats. Everyone who knew her nature, would have been nothing but amazed at her self-control.

To be honest she was getting really good at controlling intense bouts of anger. Probably (much to her annoyance) because they had been happening so _frequently_. Not to mention she was in a formal situation, but even back home, if a dignitary would insult her, and actually think it would fly over her head, he was in for it.

She didn't sock him or anything (Mostly because Sixteen and her Father kept an eye on her, though, Marron and Eighteen always egged her on), but he got such a severe tongue lashing, pride so bruised, she might as well have. Every little comment those damn Saiyans made, just thinking about it made her blood boil! The way they said every thing, as if she was a stranger to the art of politics.

No, she wasn't as well traveled as they probably were, she didn't meet with many foreign dignitaries, she didn't attend intergalactic balls and other such stately events, but she was smart and she was trained to deal with it should the need arise. Bulma was a quick learner and once they began the game, she decided she would win.

However, she wasn't quite sure if she did. Hopefully she made them as mad as they did her. One thing that bulky Saiyan kept trying to do was belittle her intelligence.

They kept rubbing the war in her face. At one point, she wanted to throw a tantrum so bad, just start chucking food at people and yelling how it wasn't fair. Incredibly childish, she knew. Her Father would never forgive her if she gave in to such a thing, and she'd be horribly embarrassed once the last wine glass left her hand, but all that bottle up anger was overwhelming. She could relish a bit in the wine spilling over that Aralia's yellow dress (which was more like a bathing suit!).

That women! Bulma wanted to beat the crap out her. Every little mocking smile, the batting of her dark eyelashes, every sharp word covered in honey that left her mouth. Her audacity! Bulma knew women like that. The kind that had an attraction to power. The kind that saw other women as a threat and men as tools. There was more vanity in their veins than blood.

Bulma hated women like that. And you know what? Bulma was pretty sure that that Aralia was a concubine! The nerve to talk to her, a Princess, a future Queen, in such a disrespectful manner! Bulma was ready to go after her with the butter knife.

Bulma paused as another though hit her; concubines had a different status on Vegeta-sei, didn't they? She shook her head in dismissal. Bulma was still Princess of Tokoshimo-

Bulma's shoulders deflated at the very though and she slumped in the crème chair. Her heart panged painfully and she ran a hand through her hair. She took a deep breath. It wasn't over, they hadn't won. Her mind flew back to her introduction.

_Former_ Princess of Tokoshimo.

So much indignation had surged in her, her pride screamed for justice. And it killed her that she couldn't do anything about it. It was _their_ game, they controlled the situation, and she had to play by their rules. She felt pity and sadness begin to seep out of her heart and into her body; she pushed it back in and replaced it with a cool anger.

Justice would be met. They would regret ever letting her into their inner circle, challenging her.

She stared at the room around her, cursing everything in it. She was immensely glad that the arrogant Prince was not gracing her with his presence. Apparently he had to entertain the nobles a little longer, while she was allowed to go back to _their_ room. Bulma rolled her eyes.

She sat in the arm chair brooding over the events. Her eyes saw a clock that read 10:25. She suddenly got very tired and fond herself drifting back and forth from slumber. When she realized that this might be the only opportunity to sleep without the Saiyan in the room, she walked over to the bed and laid down on the comforter. With her mind descending into a hazy fog, she dimly registered the scent on the bed. Memories of snowball fights and brown tails danced on the recesses of her mind and she was too drained and tired to push them away.

--.....—

Much to Bulma's annoyance, she wasn't left alone. Later, close to 1:00 AM, there was a knock at the door, waking her. Bulma stumbled over to the door. "Don't these people ever sleep?" She muttered.

Upon opening the door, a servant then informed her of the second banquet of the night, and if she was ready. Bulma gave him a scathing glare and promptly slammed the door in his face. She was half way to walking back to the bed when there was another knock.

"Princess." Even through the door, Bulma could hear the tight control of anger. She almost laughed. "Your presence is ordered by Prince Vegeta."

"Oh, in that case! Just let me pretty myself up, and I'll be down in a jiffy!"

No. Definitely not what Bulma would say. In fact, Bulma slowly turned her head back to the door and just stared at it, her face contorted in disgust. The fact that the Saiyan actually thought that that information would make even the slightest positive impact, was so _ridiculous_, that Bulma was stunned out of her groggy state.

After she got over the stupidity of it, she marched over the door, fully prepared to rip it open and say "You can tell that Bastard to _shove it_.", and slam it again. However, when she opened the door she was met with a big goofy grin.

"Wow! You look nice!"

The snarl fell off of Bulma's face like water. What the? She looked down the hall to see the other Saiyan heading to the stairs. She looked back to her former tour guide. She tried to summon back the snarl and yell what she intended to. Though, with his genuine smile and honest words, it proved to be more difficult than it should have been.

Her face twitched between confusion and anger. Her brows went up and down slightly and her mouth went between pulling her lips back and hanging open. After a good moment of silence and making weird faces at him, he spoke.

"What are you doing?" He asked with an amused smile. Bulma looked away from him slightly embarrassed, her face settling in the annoyed pout of a child. He laughed. Bulma scowled.

"Come on." He held his arm out to her "I'll be your escort."

"I'm not going." Bulma informed crossing her arms, leveling him down with a glare. There we go. She had now recovered and her guard was back up. She was really starting to hate this guy. The way he would throw her off every time she saw him.

"It'll be fun. Way better then the other one you had to go to." He said with a shrug, then gave her a fox grin, "_I'll_ be there."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "I already went to one. Why is there another? I'm trying to sleep."

"Oh yeah, you Ningens need more rest than us, huh?" He asked rubbing his chin.

Bulma gave him a ya-think-look. Like all of her hostility, it went by ignored.

"You went to the formal one. Those are no fun, I'm sorry you had to go." He gave her sympathetic nod, "But this one is the fun one, I'll be there, Chichi, Raditz, Nappa, My dad, and _way_ more food and _way_ more wine. This'll be the good feast. And everyone will be themselves."

None of those names meant anything to Bulma, nor did she care to get familiar with them, but she did raise her brow. "_More_ food?" That last one could have fed five platoons of soldiers!

He grinned at her response then closed his eyes and shook his head. Before she could react, he took her hand in his and patted it softly. "Oh, Bulma, Bulma, Bulma," He was beginning to chuckle a bit as she watched him, her eyes wide like a confused little kid.

"You have so much to learn."

--.....—

The dining room he led her too was much more spacious than the last one. The walls were a brilliant polished red stone. Enormous tear-drop-shaped columns lined the walls, they were a crème colored stone and beautiful designs were carved into them. The floor was a mirror-like black marble.

There was a group of musicians in one corner. Unlike the classical music that had been played at the last feast, this one was boisterous. The sound of drums and trumpets, strings and shouts filled the room. It was so much more lively and jovial. Energetic and wild.

In the center of the room was a long table, and smaller round tables surrounded it. However, the tables were spaced far enough to suggest that whoever sat at the round tables had nothing to do with who sat at the center table. Lining both walls of the room were two ludicrously massive buffet style tables. There were many Saiyans standing around talking and laughing, some dancing and celebrating around the ensemble.

There were women coming in and out of a big black door to the side, carrying enormous trays of food and taking out empty ones. Silver trays of food were taken to the two buffets around the room. All the while, golden trays that carried much more decadently embellished food were taken straight to the center table.

It was that table that held some familiar faces. There was no grand introduction, rather her tour guide just waltz right in with her in tow. She ignored the gazes as she walk up. The room seemed to still as the occupants noticed her in their midst. Bulma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Usually she loved that effect, but it was mostly negative lately.

She didn't bother to march over to the table like she had arrogantly done so at the last banquet. Just a mask of cold indifference was on her face. It retrospect, it looked pretty funny with the cheery man guiding her.

Slowly the crowd went back to their merrymaking. It was an unwritten rule that at an informal banquet, they were not to interact with the Royalty that graced them with their presence.

Bulma was at the left side of the King and the Prince was one again in front of her at the King's right. Though, it looked like the rest of the seating assignments didn't matter. The cheery Saiyan sat down beside her, while she noticed a few of the Strategos further down the table talking animated amongst themselves and other Saiyans.

Bulma scanned the table quickly, noting with satisfaction that both Callion and his blasted concubine were not present. Out of all the Saiyans, it was those two that grated her nerves the most (besides the Prince, anyway). Plates three feet in length covered the table. Extravagant delicacies were elaborately displayed before hands reached out and tore them apart. The scent of the spices and meat was heavy in the air, mixing with the musky sent of wine.

She watched as the smiling Saiyan beside her piled food high on his plate without any reserve or hesitation. She watched with barley veiled disgust as he inhaled it. Her gaze scanned over the other occupants of the table and saw that they were eating in the same manner. The manners from the last banquet seemed to have disappeared.

A women came and placed a golden plate in front of her, and was gone as quickly as she had come. On the golden plate was a small roasted bird, various herbs and garnishes were placed on it. Bulma only stared at it. No one addressed her this time. Even her tour guide was wrapped up in telling a grand story to their half of the table. She didn't hear a word he was saying.

Why the hell was she invited to these celebrations? You'd think it would make the Saiyans feel awkward about celebrating in front of her. But that was assuming they had any decency. No, she supposed they enjoyed rubbing it in her face.

It was so frustrating and humiliating to have to be there, surrounded by soldiers and Saiyans that had torn her planet apart. Watching as they celebrated the fall of her family, her kingdom. Righteous anger seeped into her. No one dared to try to talk to her.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. She should have been celebrating her own wedding with her family and friends; she should have been in her own palace on her own planet. Not here. Not surrounded by Saiyans. Not married to-

The marriage was _not_ valid. She refused. It wasn't possible. Marriage, to _him_? Bulma scoffed. It was inconceivable. He was a monster, no worse, a Saiyan. As if on cue, her neck began to throb as a bolt of pain shot up to her jaw. Bulma instinctively stiffened, making the pain worse. Bulma stared at her plate with nothing but anger.

Monster. It was their _wedding night _(please note the sarcasm), and that's what he had done to her? Fucking bite her, causing so much pain, he might as well have beaten the crap out of her. Her pride roared with fury, her mind screamed for vengeance, and her heart cried with betray-

Bulma clenched her eyes shut. There was nothing to betray. Nothing.

Almost desperately, she tried to steer her mind away from the rants. From the self-pity. If she kept thinking about her situation, she would drive herself mad with anger. Her pride wouldn't allow depression. Bulma looked around the table for a distraction.

She heard the deep voices of men telling war stories, jokes, and loud barks of laughter. They were all smiling, their black eyes crinkled with mirth and mouths open, long K-9s on display. They walked around the table to join other conversations or grab from a plate too far to reach (not trusting another to pass it down without taking a bite for themselves). They shouted across the table, giving each other a hard time and laughing at each others expense.

They were so… happy. It threw Bulma for a loop. Granted, the jokes they told were crude and cruel, the war stories graphic with gore and decimation, but… they were all happy. Each enjoying each others company and a sense of camaraderie was thick in the air. Bulma looked to see even the Royalty was listening to stories and throwing in their own witty quips and vicious jokes.

Then the anger came rushing back with alarming intensity. What right did they have to be so _happy?_ Any of them?

Two days ago her life had been turned asunder. Her Father, friends, fiancé could all be dead for all she knew. It wasn't fair. None of it was how it was suppose to be. It was _she_ who should have been home, cheery and happy, welcoming Yamcha's family on her planet.

"You going to eat that?" Someone slurred behind her.

Bulma sat stock still, frozen with so many overwhelming emotions. She willed herself not to let them show, not to let them control her. Then there was a sudden movement straight for her plate.

Looking back, Bulma would be disgusted with herself, but at the same time, slightly please. She'd blame the constant emotion, the constant anger in her. She would say that it was the last pebble on a mountain of boulders that ultimately pushed her to do it. That the food on her plate was hers, and Bulma would not allow another thing to be taken away from her.

Whatever it was, with incredibly fast reflexes, Bulma picked up her fork and _stabbed _the enormous hand that was grabbing the little bird off her plate. A yelp of pain pierced through the air, and the conversations at the table ceased and all turned to where Bulma sat. She glared fiercely at his hand. Her knuckles were white with the vice grip on the fork, the prongs were deeply dug into his flesh and beads of blood grew around the four punctures.

As if he had been frozen with disbelief at her action, he finally tore his hand way, ripping the fork from her grip.

Bulma was filled with a sick satisfaction, something she had never felt. Mute delight, relief even, at causing some else pain. For a moment, she realized with alarming clarity, she wasn't alone in the pain. Then, an even more disturbing thought entered her mind: it would have been so much more delightful if the pain she caused had been greater. Deeper, lethal. Permanent.

A few days ago, Bulma would have violently pushed such dark thoughts out of her mind. Been disgusted and horrified with herself. As it was, she embraced them.

Bulma stood up, all eyes on her. Unless she was going to do some more stabbing, Bulma did not want to be around the Saiyans. She felt a heavy gaze on her and looked up. She met the black eyes of the Prince and to her surprise he was giving her an approving smirk.

What the hell?! He didn't get to enjoy her outburst; he didn't get to join in on her shot of delight. This was hers. And he would not be part of it. She sent him a hard glare. He raised a mocking brow.

A few shuffles of feet beside her brought her attention to the Saiyan she had attacked. His black eyes were wide and his cheeks were rosy from too much wine. He was looking at his hand, still in shock. Then up at her with a bewildered look and then back at his hand.

Bulma opened her mouth to finally answer his question. "No, I'm not." Then turned her back on him and headed towards the door.

The crowd had been watching silently, the musicians struggling to pay attention to their instruments and play. They were not supposed to concern themselves with what happened at the table, and as if remembering, they began to talk and play the music again.

Though, above everything, she heard the Prince give a laugh and then the others joined in. By the sounds of it, they were desperately trying to hold it in before.

"It's goanna be okay, Raditz! We'll get you to a regen-tank in no time!"

"Shut your mouth, Kakarrot!" The whole table laughed harder.

--.....--

Prince Vegeta walked back to his chambers. Many were still in the dinning halls, enjoying the feasts, but he had cut out early. At the moment he was in very high spirits. He was more than please with the Princess. She had done very well in both banquets, though he would of like her to be more involved in the second one, but he didn't expect her to be.

His mind went back to when she stabbed Raditz. It sent him into another bout of cruel laughter. Raditz was never going to live that down. Ever. Not only had the Princess succeeding in humiliating the Saiyan by moving fast enough to catch him off guard, but also draw blood. In Raditz defense, he was severely drunk, but that didn't change the fact that she was a Ningen. A Ningen had, with nothing but a fork, drawn Saiyan blood. And the fact that it happened to Raditz, was just classic.

The poor Saiyan had a penchant for getting into odd situations like that.

Though, it also reflected positively on the Princess. What she had done was perfectly acceptable and in fact, expected. Raditz had made a move for her food, taking it off her plate, right in front of her. She had a right and obligation to defend what was hers. If she didn't, it would have showed cowardice, submissiveness and timidity. Which were all things that were unacceptable for someone of her station. If she hadn't done it, Vegeta would of ripped Raditz a new one. What was hers to defend, was his to defend.

He had been so worried that she would be intimidated by all the warriors around her, but she had held her own presence. He was more than please.

However, Vegeta also remembered her brooding form. He felt the tiniest pang of guilt that she had to be there. He could see how she might not take the celebration very well. It certainly was a blow to her pride. But he supposed she could use the humbling. And besides, she had to be there as the new Saiyan Princess. Otherwise he would have allowed her to stay in their room and he would have cut out early to accompany her. But as it was, they were now married, and she had to be there.

He did plan to set things right tonight. He didn't think about it at the time, but there were moments during both dinners when she would suddenly stiffen and sit perfectly still. He had only dawned on him later that it must have been from the bruise. Every time he thought of the bruise, his stomach would flip uncomfortably. Though, he was very glad that no one else caught on to it. He didn't want anyone to know of his shame.

His mind drifted to how he would go about making amends. He was rather new at such a thing. It was incredibly rare that the Saiyan Prince found himself in the wrong. He had come to terms that he was indeed guilty. There was no way he could get around what he did or reason it away. It was a bitter pill to take.

He was so impressed with her that he bit back his pride. He just wanted everything to be right between them. At this point, he found himself actually willing to _allow_ her to vent at him. He would let her say all the ridiculous things she wanted to, no matter how idiotic or infuriating; she could throw another vase at him for all he cared. Then once she was done screaming at him, he'd make her scream in a whole different way.

That would be his apology. His pride wasn't humbled enough to actually vocalize one. Far from it. But he would put up with her nonsense. Vegeta sighed, preparing himself for the inevitable. Knowing the Princess, she would know just how to enrage him. He'd have to brace himself and keep his cool. He could do that. But hell, she better be appreciative. It was not often that Vegeta would willing subject himself to talking about her feelings.

Well, granted what he called talking about feelings consist of him _allowing_ her vent out her anger and then comforting her physically. That's what women wanted, right?

Vegeta approached the stairs to the Royal Floor. The usual guards that stood there were given leave for the celebrations. He walked up, his mind on the Princess after she had vented and he could properly sooth her. He glanced out of the windows and out onto the dark garden that was in the center of the square.

He heard a door open and his head whipped forward.

--.....—

The doors closed behind her, but she could still hear the laughter at that Saiyan's expense. Bulma marched down the hall, glad that they were practically empty. It seemed everyone was in one of the dining halls, _celebrating_. She still couldn't get the anger out of her mind. She felt so wronged.

Having memorized the way back to the Royal Floor by now, she made her way there. She passed a large entry way and with sudden clarity she remembered it was the way to the docking bay. Her mind raced and she wildly saw herself hijacking a ship and saving herself. Getting away from it all.

Her mind instantly went through the details of the scenario, of what was necessary to make it happen. It seemed that most of the Saiyans were too busy celebrating. She knew she could get to the docks without much delay. The ships had Ningen technology, and even if they didn't, she knew she could figure out whatever system they ran on.

She scowled, she didn't have enough details. She didn't know what kind of patrol they had set up, inside the palace or out around the planet. She didn't even know where she would go. She didn't know how Sabia would receive her. She had no idea what state her planet was in, she didn't even know how people all over the universe were reacting to the news that Tokoshimo had been invaded.

Before another emotion could fill her sense, Bulma once again summoned anger, it was the only defense she had. A draining consuming defense.

Right as she was going to continue on her way, she caught a blur of white in her peripheral. A sudden shot of delight, happiness and hope rang threw her and with grand zeal she turned and sprinted down the corridor, her red dress fluttering behind her. Her footsteps padded on the rug and she called out "Frieza!"

"Bulma." He said as she stopped before him, her heart beating like a drum. "Just the person I came to see."

"Do you have any news?" Bulma whispered in a frantic rush. Her eyes were wide and she saw the faces of her loved ones.

With the nod of his head, Bulma's heart soared. "Do you know where we may speak privately?" He asked looking around the empty hall, as if someone would ambush them.

Bulma's brows drew together in thought. She nodded and began to lead him to the Royal floor. No one was allowed there unless summoned by the Royal Family, right? She knew that both Vegetas were at the banquet. That entire floor was empty. She led Frieza over to the elevators and the doors slid behind them.

The trip to the Royal Floor was short and they walked in silence. All Bulma could think about was what Frieza would tell her. Her mind completely occupied she led him to the Prince's Room.

He shut the door behind him and Bulma whirled around to face him.

"Interesting choice." He commented with a barley suppressed smile as he took in the room.

Bulma gave him a stupid look for a moment till she figured out what he meant. "Oh. No one will spy on _his_ room." She dismissed. For a moment a dawned on her to take him to one of the other spare rooms, but she was too anxious to hear what he had to tell her, and she did not find a good enough reason to delay the news any longer.

"Well?" She pressed, her hands gripping the red chiffon fabric of her dress.

--.....--

Vegeta heard a door open and his head whipped forward. Just in time to see Frieza closing a door behind him.

The door to Vegeta's room.

In one nanosecond, Vegeta's mind swirled between a million conclusions. So many, that they jammed, and all he could do was stare with his mouth open and his brows furrowed.

"Oh, Vegeta." Frieza gave him a sugary smile. "How's the married life?"

Vegeta almost choked on his own breath. Anger rushing in his body like a wild animal that had no where to go. To add to it, Frieza was using _that_ tone. That cheery mocking one. It was a tone Frieza seemed to reserve just for Vegeta.

He glared at the lizard, then bit out "Lovely."

Frieza's eyes lightened up. "Lovely?" Then he jovially went on "She made it very clear to me that you repulse her."

In an instant, Vegeta's body was filled with so much anger, he should have burst into flames. It took every fiber of his being not to lash out.

Frieza went on, his smirk smug and tone teasing. "Why is it that you wanted her so much? I see it's not for her beauty, since you haven't even taken her to bed yet."

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Vegeta's instincts ordered. Frieza was lucky there was so much vindictive fury flowing through Vegeta's veins, that he was frozen with it. His muscles so tense, he couldn't move them.

Then, with a flippant tone, but suggestive grin, Frieza finished with, "Don't worry though, I took care of her."

Vegeta's body trembled with the rage it contained. Even though he desperately wanted to deal Frieza a slow and torturous death, he couldn't move. A lethal ki-blast could have been careening at him and he _wouldn't_ have been able to move. Frieza arrogantly walked past him as Vegeta stared at the place where he stood.

After what seemed like an eternity of seeing nothing but red. His mind began working again. He remembered back on the space station the Princess had looked at Frieza with such reverence and relief. Instantly his mind was assaulted with images of their bodies rolling over each other, slick with sweat. In revulsion he saw her under him, calling the lizard's name. More anger than Vegeta had ever felt in his _life_, drove him into a murderous rage.

Vegeta swore he was going to fucking kill Frieza.

But first, he was going to go find out from his mate's mouth, why the hell Frieza was in their room. And so help her if she lied to him.

--.....--

.To Be Continued.

--.....—

A/N – Wow. I have no excuse for such a horribly long delay. Only that I kept getting stuck on the formal banquet. Also sorry for throwing in so many OC's, I needed to build up some Saiyan nobility since Toriyama didn't do it for me. Hopefully I can make them tolerable.

I was wondering what you guys thought of the characterization. Like do you think anybody was _out_ of character? Or was some people's train of thought, or actions, just not making sense? Tell me so I can make it clearer.

Also is anybody getting the jabs of humor? Or am I the only one that thinks my little quips are funny? ^^;;

Anyway. Thank you so much for reviewing (they really do get the muse going)!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – Finals suck.

--.....--

. Last chapter.

--.....—

After what seemed like a eternity of seeing nothing but red. His mind began working again. He remembered back on the space station the Princess had looked at Frieza with such reverence and relief. Instantly his mind was assaulted with images of their bodies rolling over each other, slick with sweat. In revulsion he saw her under him, calling the lizard's name. More anger than Vegeta had ever felt in his _life_, drove him into a murderous rage.

Vegeta swore he was going to fucking kill Frieza.

But first, he was going to go find out from his mate's mouth, why the hell Frieza was in their room. And so help her if she lied to him.

--.....--

.Chapter Six.

--.....—

Vegeta slammed open the door with such force, it was amazing it wasn't completely obliterated. The sound rumbled through the room and out of his peripheral he saw her jump and whip her head around to face him. Vegeta was fully prepared to roar out accusations, demand explanations and just start destroying things. Though he was frozen the minute he laid eyes on the room.

The covers were ruffled about, pillows littered the rug. That gorgeous dress was haphazardly thrown on the floor, ripped on the edges, as if in a frenzy to get it off. That alone made his stomach reel with disgust at the implications. His head snapped over to her form. The Princess stared at him in shock, panic and embarrassment. She stood there, frozen, with nothing on but a red towel.

Before Vegeta could even say a word, even completely digest the evidence, her embarrassment left her and she stared at him with nothing but absolute wrath. Her rage surpassed any of their other encounters. Her hands were clenched, her knuckles white and strained, one hand holding onto the towel. Her breathing was almost erratic, like she was choking on her own fury. Her eyes were narrowed, their normal light cerulean was a stormy navy, intensely focused on him. Her muscles were tense, almost as if _she_ was trying to keep herself from lunging at _him_.

It was such intense ferocity, that for a second, only a second, Vegeta's anger recoiled at hers. In that second, it was as if she wanted nothing more than to rip his throat out with her teeth.

Then the second was over, and Vegeta's anger came back tenfold. His mind roared over her audacity. How _dare_ she look at him like that? The fucking nerve of this woman. _She_ was the one entertaining that Lizard in _their_ _bedroom_. _She_ was the one that was naked! His gaze swept over her quickly with scorn. Her hair was raked though, tussled about. Her lips swollen and red. Why wasn't she begging for mercy, rushing to explain herself, _anything_? Did she not realize that she had been caught? Vegeta's heart pounded. Or did she just not care?

Vegeta's muscles were tight and he could feel ki rushing through his body, begging to be released. His hands twitched at his sides and his tail snapped behind him like an angry cobra. He was breathing heavily, his throat hard and raw. Every rational thought was completely obliterated from his mind. All he could see was their bodies pounding into each other.

With Frieza's words echoing around in his ears, he couldn't contain his ki completely and it radiated of his skin in red waves.

While the woman couldn't sense ki, she could certainly see it and it rightly alarmed her. Her anger dimmed and he saw confusion in her eyes for a small moment. As if disregarding him, she hurriedly turned to the bathroom, her movements stiff and rigid.

Vegeta was stirred to life by her movement; in a single second he was across the room. Like a predator pouncing on his prey, he slammed her against the wall. His fingers dug into the flesh of her arms. She let out a scream and clutched at her towel as if it would protect her from him.

"Get of me!" She screamed, her voice hoarse with anger. She struggled against him, torn between holding onto her towel and scratching at his skin.

Vegeta bared his teeth at her, snarling "What the fuck-" was that smell?

Vegeta paused the instant the scent assaulted his nostrils and his head quickly reeled back away from her (had there been a third party watching, it would have been a tad comical). It retrospect, the smell really shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. And it only drove him further into madness.

The lizard. She reeked of him. Images of them together crashed into his mind. Unconsciously, his grip tightened. However, it only took the sudden look of pain on her face to jolt his mind a bit. It was the first time she had let any intense pain slip through to him.

His grip loosened to the point were he almost let her go. He might of, if she hadn't instantly struggled away from him. On reflex, he tightened his grip and slammed her against the wall again.

"Let go of me!" She cried throaty and strong. Her mouth was fixed into a snarl, her eyes were wide and her brows dipped, torn between rage and fear.

"Why is his scent all over you?!" Vegeta growled, his voice so bestial, she winced and turned her face away; as if the very sound vibrations stung her.

She made it clear she wasn't going to answer him, so swiftly, he dipped his face to her exposed neck, the skin a creamy white. He hovered above her skin, taking in the scent. Her struggles turned to violent trembles in his hands, her bravado gone. He slowly moved his nose up and down her neck.

"Don't." She gasped out desperately, hopelessly, "Don't do it again…"

At her tone Vegeta's stomach dropped suddenly and painfully. Her words sliced through him like a knife. He quickly shoved it away and replaced it with his heated anger. It was no simple task.

"Shut up." He hissed out. Vegeta carried on with his inspection, running his nose down her collar bone, over her shoulders. The moment he was away from her neck, her violent tremors stilled to shaky breathes. She acted as if he was a lion, and any sudden movement would make him devour her.

In the back of his mind, a sense of disturbance pricked at his conscience. Her fear was thick in the air, and it wasn't as satisfying as it should have been. This added more irritation to his wrath.

His nose met the edge of the towel, and he tugged it down. It happened so fast, Vegeta froze for a moment. The very moment his fingertips touched the towel, she switched from cowering and traumatized, to wild and aggressive. She struggled against him so frantically, he thought she was going to hurt herself. Her free arm pounded against his collar bone, her nails digging into his neck. Her torso twisted left and right, her other hand clutched at the towel, her elbow extended to try and push him away.

She was screaming again, those throaty screams of rage and fear. Her eyes were hard on him, her breaths so frantic.

In frustration, and with amazing speed, he grabbed both her hands with one of his, and held them above her. She let out a horrified protest as the towel began to fall, and without thinking Vegeta caught the edge and held it against her.

Neither moved for a long moment, their breathing heavy and deafening in the room. She was trembling again, intensely aware that any struggling would expose her to him. The towel held in such away that it hung loosely against her body, covering up her center and exposing her sides.

It seemed as if the situation finally sunk in and her eyes widened in fear. Vegeta felt a dark shot of satisfaction. Distantly, the darkest part of his psyche wondered why he didn't just rip the towel away and take her. With another thought, he realized he was just too angry to do any such thing.

The very idea of any hand other than his own, touching her skin, his mate—was-was-- it lit a consuming destructive fire that he had never felt before. It was almost overwhelming, uncontrollable. He couldn't even try to reason with it and frankly he didn't want to. While the intensity didn't bother him, that lack of control did, and with all his might he willed it away. The scent of her fear helped level him, bring his mind back to her. He barley noticed that the shot of delight had melted away with the fire of his anger. Now with shaky control, he went on with his inspection.

He ran his nose down the sides of her breast. She was trembling again, he ignored her. That lizard's scent wasn't fused with hers, so much as it was lingering. Which was a relief, and made his shaky control stable.

With his palm holding the towel against her collar bone, and the other holding her hands, his tail was left to pull one of her thighs open. She shrieked and began to struggle again, Vegeta pressed his body against hers, stepping between her legs and giving her a dominant glare. Apparently the women didn't understand when to back down, because her struggles got even more frantic. He ignored them and with his own body holding the towel in place, his freed hand slipped down to her legs.

Vegeta really didn't think it was possible for her to struggle more, what possible energy could she be holding back? Though somehow, she put more speed, more adrenal, more force into her movements. He could hear her heart beat, feel it beating so rapidly against her breast and onto his.

His fingertips grazed her smooth thigh. Despite his anger, a spark of warmth _did_ shoot straight to his stomach, but considering the situation, he found it easy to ignore. He moved his hand to her inner thigh and slowly swept upwards.

"Vegeta! Stop!" It was a horrified plea, but somehow, she managed to make it sound like a command. His dark eyes swept up to her wide blue ones. He didn't say anything.

He retracted his hand, smelling the tips. No trace of that lizard, only her own intoxicating scent. Satisfied, Vegeta released her and stepped back, causing the towel to slide down. Like a spring her hands went down to catch it and hold it against her.

She was fine. Nothing had happened. Nothing of that nature, anyway. That destructive fire in his core was brought under complete control, but didn't leave him. He looked away from her for a moment and took deep breathes. His breathing was still heavy and his skin glowed reddish. He looked back at her, giving her a severely reprimanding glare.

She returned it, her eyes wide and her brows heavily dipped. She let out ragged forceful breaths, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at his intrusion.

Vegeta didn't feel the slightest bit ashamed. She was his mate, there was nothing to be _bashful_ about.

I didn't even _see_ anything, he thought with the annoyance of a little boy, but that thought was gone before it was fully registered. The fact that she had the audacity to look so humiliated was bringing irritation to him all over again. How did she _do_ that? Vegeta tried to shake the irritation off before it sunk its claw into him. He could ponder her latest injustice later. He needed to deal with this whole ordeal now.

"Why was he here?" He snarled out, his first clenching and unclenching at his sides**. **

She glared back, taking deep breathes, in an effort to calm herself. The hatred in her eyes doubled tenfold and she clutched the towel to her body so tightly, he thought she was going to rip it. She glared at him in silence.

"Answer me!" Vegeta roared, his eyes wide, but his brow set in scorn. "Why was he here?"

"He wanted to ask how I was being treated." She finally spat out, sarcasm thick in her voice.

His brow twitched. She looked at him accusingly, as if he had staved her and thrown her in the dungeons! With a great amount of _will_ (sheer will!), he decided not to point out that she had been given the best of Vegeta-sei, from the luxuries in their room to the bountiful feast earlier that night. Hell, He had _personally_ installed that damn air-conditioning for her _comfort_!

Vegeta swallowed his pride, and decided to throw all that in her face another time (While a part of him prayed there wouldn't be one, he couldn't help being realistic). With muscles tense, and a hard glare, Vegeta grounded out, "Why _here_?"

"He wanted to speak privately. I didn't know where else to take him." She said her voice tense with resentment.

"And the smell?" He shot out quickly. A day surrounded by Saiyans and she still smelt more like that lizard.

She raised a brow, then quickly glanced down at her body and then back to him. For a moment he thought she was going to roll her eyes, instead she gave him an artificially-sweetened smile "We _hugged_."

It was at that comment that Vegeta recoiled with realization. One of the emotions swarming through his body was raging jealousy. His chest constricted, and his eyes twitched. His throat felt thick with a bad flavor and Vegeta suddenly didn't know what to do with himself.

He had never felt this kind of jealousy. Not any real significant kind. He was the Prince! He envied no man! But there it was, that swarming emotion, eating away at his gut like a parasite. He tried to summon back his anger so he wouldn't have to deal with it, but before he could, she shifted her stance and her hair swung away from her neck.

And that bruise stared right back at him.

Guilt shot through him like a bullet, shattering the summoned anger like glass. The shards of anger began to slowly melt into simmering frustration. For once he didn't know what showed on his face, but hers dipped in bewildered confusion for a moment, then shifted to contempt.

With mock-compassion, she spoke up, her chin jutting out arrogantly "What? Are you hurt that I'd rather touch him than you?"

Then, like hitting the rewind button, the shards of anger flew back together and Vegeta was back to the same state he was when he had walked in. With blood pumping through his ears like a powerful river, he glared down at her.

She glared back in defiance. _How dare she?_ His mind screamed over and over. And once again he saw their bodies rolling into each other, and the uncontrollable anger was seeping out of his core and into his blood stream, that destructive fire.

For some reason, before he hadn't really patched her as… well, he sort of assumed she was stupidly seduced. That that lizard had come and made her vain promises, that she was just angry, confused, not thinking clearly, that she was weak and taken advantage of. She was still accountable, it didn't excuse her in the least, and a lot of the anger in him was directed at her, but ultimately, it would be Frieza's head that he wanted not hers-

But now…

Vegeta stepped forward, his anger murderous. His anger completely fueled by that destructive fire. His body was tense and coiled, his muscles strained. A part of him screamed not to get any closer to her, not to lay a finger on her, to get away from her. But the blood was rushing through his ears.

Finally, _finally_, she was getting the picture. Her brows slowly rose from their crease, and her eyes softened with open fear. Her lips trembled, her head dipped a bit and her shoulders hunched. Instinctively, her body gave him submissive cues.

That voice kept screaming at him not to hurt her. The blood rushing like waterfall in each ear. That destructive anger was so uncontrollable, he thought it would rip him apart from the inside out if he didn't let it out, satisfy its blood lust.

Like a floodgate had snapped, his arm sprang out and he shot ki blast after ki blast. And without looking back left for the door.

--.....—

Bulma sunk to the floor, letting out ragged breaths. Her heart pounded in her throat and she willed herself to breath properly. It was alarmingly difficult. She placed a shaky hand on her brow. Her hand sunk down over her face and she felt tears dripping down her cheeks. She held her hand to her trembling lips and looked over to the sitting area.

The fine imported furniture, the glass table and metal work, the decorative vase and flowers, everything that had been there was now nothing but a scorching crater. All the material there completely obliterated, instantly ceasing to exist.

After her shock wore off, Bulma was left going over the past events in her mind. She had been honestly shocked at his anger when he stormed in, though it quickly shifted as she remembered everything Frieza had spoke to her about- No, she didn't want to think about it right now.

It was too much. Her emotions had been on haywire, jumping between overwhelming rage, fear and sorrow. They fueled her, but like a shot of caffeine, it left her so exhausted. With irritation she wiped her tears away. She had been terrified. Even now she was still rather shaken… Bulma pushed it to the back her mind. She refused to relive it, to wallow in the fear. Her muscles cried as she pushed herself off the floor and headed into the bathroom.

As she let the towel drop, her mind snapped back to his body against hers, his hot breath on her skin. Her body tensed with humiliation and revulsion. She shook her head. She would make herself insane with anger if she thought about it, and she didn't have enough strength to deal with such strong emotions.

Bulma quickly got into the shower. With a turn of the faucet, ice hit her. Bulma relished in the sensation, the numbing of her sore muscles.

She tentatively ran a washcloth over her neck, hissing at the pain. Bulma, without a doubt, had thought he was going to bite her again. She was sure another bite would kill her. And to be honest, he looked ready too when he bursted into the room. Though that was _nothing_ compared to when she taunted him about Frieza.

She didn't understand why _that_ had sent him off though. He was already under the impression that something had gone on between her and Frieza (who she saw as a cousin, by the way, so eww), what was one more little comment? She barley even remembered what she said. Something along the lines of preferring Frieza's company to his. Which Bulma had thought was _obvious_. So the fact that it offended him so much had honestly caught her by surprise.

His reaction, his terrorizing reaction… Bulma finally understood how entire planets trembled at his name. …She sincerely thought that he would kill her. Bulma's hands stilled as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. Even after everything, the war, the bite, she had never considered that he would kill her. The thought had never even entered her mind until that very moment.

Bulma wouldn't acknowledge, or even admit it to herself, but there were certain things she felt that he just wouldn't do to her personally. Which was stupid of her, because he had been so close to doing a few of them already. He had almost killed her tonight. Bulma rolled the thought over and over in her mind, trying to make it sink in. But it still didn't make sense to her. And she felt a soft self-loathing for it.

He was the enemy, as it was she was his prisoner. She should be able to comprehend that he would kill her if she stepped out of line. They were nothing more to each other.

Another thought occurred to her, could she kill him? Bulma easily came to the conclusion. No.

Genuinely backing this conclusion with the fact that he didn't deserved death. He deserved something much worse. She would deal him the same humiliation, the same agony, that he had dealt her.

Bulma stepped out of the shower, drying off. Despite the refreshing shower, she felt her eyes drooping. What time was it? She felt so exhausted over the days events.

She left the bathroom, passing the smoking crater the Prince left behind. Bulma let out a sigh of relief for it looked like he wasn't coming back anytime soon. She walked to the closet and pulled on a night gown. Without any hesitation or delay, she collapsed on the bed. She didn't have the strength to be critical over the fact that it was his.

Her mind rolled back to her conversation with Frieza, her mind going over the few things that gave her a sense of peace, a sense of rest. A small smile found its way onto her lips.

Tomorrow, she thought, nestling into a pillow. Tomorrow she would begin.

--.....—

Kakarrot wrapped his arms around her, tugging at her dress. Chichi's hands were in his hair and Kakarrot conclude that it was the perfect end to a wonderful day. His mouth was on her neck and she let out a shaky gasp as his tongue touched his mark. Her knees buckled and his arm was there to pull her close to him, roaming the curves of her body.

A loud knock crashed into the door, making Chichi jump. Kakarrot's eyes swiveled with a glare over to the door. Chichi was already pulling away from him, expecting him to answer.

"I'm sure it's not important." Kakarrot said with a pleading smile as he pulled her back to him.

"It sounded pretty urgent." Chichi said, giving him a knowing grin. Why was it that females could always stop what they're doing at a moments notice? It was ridiculous how fast Saiyan males got wound up compared to their females. It was like a hawk racing a fruit fly.

"It's just Vegeta." Kakarrot murmured, dipping his mouth to her neck again. No one else could put so much unconscious arrogance and out right anger into a single knock.

"It's _just_ the crowned Prince of our planet." Chichi teased, rolling her eyes as she easily pulled out of his arms. "Yeah, go get that. I gotta freshen up anyway." And with that she disappeared into the bathroom.

Well that was a lie, she didn't need to freshen up. She smelled wonderful. With an aggravated sigh, Kakarrot ran a hand through his hair and tried to clear his mind. It _better_ be important. Man, Kakarrot wished that Vegeta would take his problems to someone else for once.

Okay, that was a little harsh, and Kakarrot didn't really mean it. Actually, right now he did. I mean-- _come on! _No male can be chipper after being sure that he was going to have an _awesome_ night, only to have it pulled away from him. Even Kakarrot. Actually, _especially_ Kakarrot.

Few things put him in a fouler mood than having his time with his mate interrupted.

Geez, Vegeta better have some enormous problem that no one else can fix. Kakarrot already had a wisecrack ready to throw at him. Upon opening the door, the comment melted on his tongue and he stepped out into the hall closing the door behind him.

Vegeta looked furious. Which was not all that amazing, because that's how he looked at least a quarter of the time he was awake. What alarmed Kakarrot was that along with the furry, there was worry and confusion. Two emotions that were rarely ever on the Prince's face, especially at the same time.

"Vegeta…?" Kakarrot asked tentatively. Vegeta's eyes swiveled back to Kakarrot as if just realizing he was there. Kakarrot gulped nervously, something big had happened…

"Training room." Vegeta murmured so low, Kakarrot barley caught it. The Prince stiffly turned and began to walk to the stairs. Kakarrot softly sighed, and followed the Prince.

--.....—

Vegeta threw out his elbow, slamming it into Kakarrot's jaw. He flew back, his body surrounded in blue ki. Vegeta was already above him with another barrage of ki blast. Kakarrot dodged to the left only to run his body into Vegeta's fist.

Vegeta hadn't said another word since they left the hall. He just seemed to be letting out all his anger and frustration on Kakarrot. All he could really do was try to dodge, and every now and then throw in some hits to get Vegeta to back off for a few moments. Finally after what seemed like an eternity and a couple fractured bones later (all Kakarrot's of course). Vegeta finally said something.

"She was alone with Frieza."

Kakarrot dropped his guard for the smallest of moments and Vegeta responded with a quick uppercut. Vegeta powered up again as Kakarrot recovered. Vegeta sent himself into another frenzy of attacks.

Kakarrot tried to wrap his mind around what was said, narrowly avoiding ki blasts. Being a male, and of like mind about such matters, he had instantly understood what Vegeta was insinuating.

However, his brows dipped in thought, that was a serious accusation. Deadly serious. And judging by the fact that he hadn't heard any _massive_ explosions, there was no dead body found and Vegeta wasn't covered in blood, nothing had actually happened between Bulma and Frieza.

And Kakarrot concluded this because, according to Saiyan custom, it was completely valid for Vegeta to kill his mate if she was caught, red handed, with another or the offending Saiyan. There were many other details and scenarios with the customs, but the principle was that if the bond was irrevocably broken (which Kakarrot was sure it always was after such a betrayal) and the Saiyan was shamed and wronged, only blood could pay for it.

So now that Kakarrot confirmed that's not what happened between them, he tried to piece together what else could be riling Vegeta up. Perhaps it was another form of this-

"I was angry when I saw Frieza, angry when I saw the room, angry when I saw her and I already had the idea of them together…" Vegeta said, finally pausing his attacks as he floated in the air. He looked at the wall, his eyes narrowed "It was only when she hinted at being the _instigator_… that I…"

Kakarrot's eyes widened. That did change things. It made Bulma completely accountable, which meant that she would bear the brunt of his anger. And it's why Vegeta's next comment didn't surprise Kakarrot at all.

"I was ready to kill her."

But it was the fact that Vegeta seemed to be confused by his statement, _ashamed_ of it, that had Kakarrot's mind reeling. For a moment Kakarrot couldn't even respond. Seeing open shame on Vegeta's face was like seeing a butterfly spinning a web. A contradiction. However, Vegeta was clearly very disturbed by his revelation.

Kakarrot had said it a million times, but Vegeta really never ceased to amaze him. As soon as Kakarrot thought he had the man all figured out, Vegeta would do something, say something that contradicted the conclusion.

Normally if Vegeta felt he was wronged, he would correct the manner in whatever form he deemed necessary. And as a Saiyan, his instincts had a great deal in deciding what needed to be done. However, Vegeta was questioning his instinct, something Kakarrot was sure the man had never done before. Something that completely redefined Vegeta in Kakarrot's mind.

Kakarrot focused back on Vegeta. Reciting his words in his mind. Vegeta never just stated what he was asking of Kakarrot, so the Saiyan was often left shooting in the dark. Now it seemed as if Vegeta was questioning why it set him off so much, that Bulma had been the instigator instead of Frieza.

"It sounds like the idea of her betraying you is what did it." Kakarrot said simply, not bothering with any eloquence.

Vegeta's brows knitted, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. And Kakarrot could see why. Vegeta lost control over something that she had done, and in a way, that gave her a sort of power over him. Kakarrot expected Vegeta to shoot this conclusion down and was already tying to gather another plausible one.

However, Vegeta murmured softly, "…Maybe…"

--.....—

There was a knock at the door, disturbing Bulma's sleep. She let out an annoyed groan. Her entire body ached all over again. She was growing so _sick_ of the constant pain. Both mental and physical. Sleeping was the only time it diminished. Bulma shifted her body into a more comfortable position and as she began to drift into another dream, there was another knock.

Bulma opened one eye, nothing but irritation entering her. "Go away." Bulma called out tiredly into her pillow.

The door opened. Bulma scoffed, rolling her eyes under her closed eyelids. Saiyans _suck_. Her thoughts were never quite elegant or witty in the morning.

Bulma rolled over to see several female attendants coming in with what looked like breakfast, another opening the heavy curtains and letting in the hot sunlight. The ones caring the trays suddenly paused at the obliterated sitting area.

They all exchanged awkward glances, having no idea what to make of it. Had Bulma been more awake, she would have laughed out loud. They ended up just setting up breakfast on the large trunk at the foot of the bed.

Bulma slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

"Is this alright, Princess?" One asked as she walked by.

"Get the hell out." Bulma said instantly and casually, not even bothering to look at them. Neither was Bulma the most well-mannered person in the morning. Always saying exactly what she was thinking, without any shame or remorse. If Bulma hadn't been born a princess, she would probably be like that all the time (the last few days _didn't_ count).

The attendants left without another word.

Bulma washed her face and looked up into the mirror. There were very fine bags under her eyes, her body still lacking energy, but the long sleep certainly helped. She was actually able to get through a REM cycle. It was quite the accomplishment.

She brushed her teeth and went on getting dressed. On the way to the closet she glanced at the breakfast they left and then disregarded it. Bulma slipped on a black tank top and then a thin white zip-up-hoodie. After stepping into a pair of dark grey pants, Bulma walked passed the cooling breakfast again. She grabbed the pitcher of ice water and poured herself some.

Bulma made her way over to the massive bay window, the shadows of the frame work falling on her in thin squares. She looked out to see the city.

At the sight of the sandstone buildings and red tiled roofs her mind jumped back to a memory so long ago. Her eyes grazed over the newer, metal buildings, painted a cool white. Along the main streets were planted palm trees, and people walked though going along their day. It was a lot like she had imagined it…

Then there were blurs of blue, red, yellow, and green streaking causally across the city skyline. It was really odd to see people simply flying to their destinations, rather than cars or other forms of transportation. A gargantuan coliseum close to the base of the palace caught Bulma's eye, but she dismissed it quickly. She moved her eyes back on the Saiyans going about their day.

She narrowed her eyes, but before she could began to berate them on the injustice of it all, she let out a calming breath and then took a sip of her water. It would begin.

No more aimlessly going along with the Saiyans demands, no more simmering helplessly in anger. Now she could do something.

Everything had changed last night.

--.....—

Frieza shut the door behind him and Bulma whirled around to face him.

"Interesting choice." He commented with a barley suppressed smile as he took in the room.

Bulma gave him a stupid look for a moment till she figured out what he meant. "Oh. No one will spy on _his_ room." She dismissed. For a moment it dawned on her to take him to one of the other spare rooms, but she was too anxious to hear what he had to tell her, and she did not find a good enough reason to delay the news any longer.

"Well?" She pressed, her hands gripping the red chiffon fabric of her dress.

Frieza's demeanor suddenly sobered. Bulma stilled and her mind froze. "The planet has been ravished. All major cities have been decimated. All colonies have been destroyed. While a few hundred civilian ships managed to escape, most were either shot down or taken captive as they left Tokoshimo's atmosphere. The technology from the ships was harvested and the Saiyans currently have various computers and data bases in their labs."

"The civilians that stayed on the planet have been killed or enslaved. Those that were captured were organized according to their status. They were divided among the Strategos of Vegeta-sei and are being forced to help update Saiyan technology and implement it on various ships and labs. Many have refused to help and were either murdered or committed suicide. Those civilians who were not familiar with technology were either killed or sent to Samos. That includes men, women, and children. Many women were taken to the harems and local brothels."

Frieza didn't mince his words, but he looked at her with pained eyes. Bulma stared at him wide-eyed, but saw nothing. She felt numb. How did such a horrible fate happen to her people? Her mind couldn't comprehend it. Three days ago her planet, her people had been the most prosperous in the entire universe. Now they were reduced to nothing.

Three days.

Bulma couldn't breath, and it didn't even alarm her. Distantly, in the back of her mind, she wondered where her tears were, where the sorrow was, but Bulma felt absolutely nothing. The ice seeping into her body, freezing her blood was slowly killing her. She couldn't even feel her own heart beat, as it was frozen over. Her hands clenched at her dress, ripping the red fabric, her knuckles bone white.

Frieza spoke again, "The palace has been completely demolish."

Instead of an explosion of pain, Bulma could only draw her brows in confusion. The place she had grown up, the place that held so many memories, a place that was as familiar to her as her own skin… How could it be gone?

"My Father?" She heard a gasping hollow voice ask, it took her a moment to realize that it was her own.

"I've heard nothing of him." He said regrettably.

Bulma's heart jumped up into her throat, painfully shattering the ice that had spread over it. With a jolt her eyes focused on Frieza. "Nothing?" She breathed out.

"Only that no body was found." His tone had a lift of hopefulness. She let out a shaky breath and the ice thawed, cracking painfully with sweetly bitter relief. Her eyes slid close and she concentrated on her breaths. There was hope. Her Father had to be alive. He was too smart, too strong to succumb to the Saiyans, he would have figured something out…

"Marron? Sixteen?" Bulma asked, they were strong. "Eighteen? Yamcha?" They couldn't-

"It's possible the androids could have been destroyed and their bodies recovered for research…" Frieza murmured, his own brows dipped in thought.

Bulma's breath caught in her throat. She saw them ambushed, overwhelmed by the sheer number of the Saiyans. She saw Sixteen torn limb from limb. The few organs that were still human flesh violently ripped from the metal shell. Eighteen was on a metal table, her eyes blank with the side of her head bashed in her gory brain matter exposed, her lower torso completely obliterated, circuits and wires hung loose, blood mixing with oil.

Silent tears began to stream down her face, her chest tightly constricting, making it difficult to breath. Her mind was thrown into shock at her own horrific imagination. They couldn't be- _No_, they were too strong…

"I have no news about Marron. There were no reports of another blue haired women being found…" They way his eyes bore into hers, Bulma understood why he trailed off.

It was then that a flood gate of grief slammed into her heart, making it burst into sharp glass, slicing and carving her out from the inside. "Marron…!" Bulma gasped out, hot tears spilling down her face. She never even had a chance! Bulma was met with images of Marron being dragged away by massive Saiyans, screaming and desperately trying to get away. She saw their hands tearing at her clothes, Marron's blue eyes wide in terror. Bulma felt herself falling, her body shaking with horror, as if she was the one about to be viciously assaulted.

She felt hands grip her shoulders as she began to fall down to her knees. She wildly pulled away from them, her minds eye seeing nothing but Marron fighting a hopeless battle.

"Bulma." Came a firm voice, Bulma looked up to see red eyes, "You don't know that that's happened to her."

"I should of-"

"Nothing could have been done. You can't fall apart Bulma." Frieza reminded, holding her to him, one hand reaching up to wipe the tears away. "Nothing was reported, she could have been on one of the civilian ships that escaped." All Bulma could do was cling to that hope, to keep herself from falling. If she fell… Frieza was right, she would never get back up.

"Yamcha's alive." Bulma's head snapped up to him, barley registering his close proximity. Her eyes fell close and she dipped her head. The tears were a waterfall now. The joy was bittersweet in light of all the other news, but it was still more joy than she had felt since the whole ordeal began. All the anger seemed to wash away from her body in light of the revelation.

He was alive! Some burden she hadn't realized she carried was lifted from her, and Bulma could _breathe_.

"What's your next move, Bulma?" Frieza asked, leveling her with a hard gaze. She looked back up at him, now mildly aware that she was completely in his arms. She took a step back, and he easily released her as if they did that sort of thing all the time.

She didn't really register the odd occurrence, her mind completely wrapped up in his question.

She had nothing, no resources, no subjects, no soldiers, absolutely nothing. What could she possibly do? The more she thought about it, the more here heart fell into despair. Her Ningens had fallen…

Frieza saw the desperation in her eyes, the sudden hopelessness. "The war isn't over." He said firmly, then lift a brow at her "Unless you've given up?"

The way he said it, as a challenge, awakened Bulma's pride. He saw the change in her demeanor and went on. "Have they broken you, Bulma? Made you accept what they've done to you, to your people. To abandon who you were, and become what they expect you to be?"

She glared at him, anger fuelling her. Anger for her life, her marriage, her family, her planet, her _people. _She would not let them down. "No." She wasn't done with the Saiyans, no. She would never give up.

Her mind began to calculate, formulate a plan. That's all she needed. She would find a way to execute it. She was Bulma of the Royal Briefs family. A righteous vindictive furry swam in her veins.

She would bring justice to her people. She would make the mighty Saiyans fall, dwindle to nothing. She would make his Royal Highness feel exactly like she had, she would tear everything away from him.

Her eyes suddenly swiveled back to Frieza. He had always been neutral during this war, needing the services of both plants…

"Who's side are you on now?" Bulma asked him, almost defensively. There was no more neutrality. He was either with her or against her.

"The Saiyans have wronged you. They have deprived me of a very important alley, and disregarded all of my counsel. While I cannot openly engage them in war, I will aide you when I can. I want you to understand the position you are now in."

Bulma raised a brow caught off guard. She knew he could not engage in open warfare, there were too many resources to be lost and nothing to gain but salvaging the honor of a people that weren't his own. However—position--did he mean--

"Marriage?" Bulma said the word with so much disgust. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief when Frieza actually smiled.

"Yes. Don't let your anger cloud your judgment. Don't you see that you will be their Queen? And you are now in a position of great influence and access."

Bulma instantly thought of seduction, of using her body instead of her mind, to get to where she wanted. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably. Her face scrunched up as if she caught a whiff of something offensive. It repulsed her.

Frieza had the nerve to laugh, then caught himself. "Not like that Bulma, though I'm sure that would make things go allot faster."

He went on, his tone shifting, "As a woman, they will underestimate you. Despite their knowledge of Ningen intelligence, they will disregard you. They think you're weak, that you will bend to their will. They assume you will submit to them and spend the rest of your life siring their heirs in silence."

Bulma crossed her arms angrily. Her jaw clenched as she looked away. Wrath bubbled up in her. There was nothing that bothered her more than being underestimated.

"_Use it."_ Frieza stressed. "You will be on the inside, have the opportunity to destroy the Saiyans like they did your people, worse then your people-" He suddenly turned to the door, as if hearing something. "I don't have much time left."

"Listen to me, Bulma, I believe that the Saiyans wish to turn against me as they did your people all those years ago. You know first hand of their lust for power. I want you to have your eyes and ears open. Learn their weaknesses, learn to exploit them. Listen to their plans, find their flaws. Observe their technology, sabotage it."

Bulma's mind reeled over the damage she could do. Dark sadistic delight flooded her being, the taste of revenge tantalizing her. She remembered how she had stabbed that Saiyan, the _joy_. How she yearned for something more lethal. This was her chance…

"Now Bulma, here comes the hard part." He gave her a little smirk "Play nice. Do all this and still keep appearances, don't let them figure out your talent. Make them forget that you were ever their enemy. Gain their trust, and betray them like they did you."

He looked over his shoulder again. "I will stay in contact with you, Bulma. For now just gather information, don't make any moves yet. Gain their trust." He stressed one last time.

Bulma nodded, her constant anger lifting at the thought of retribution, her heart beating hotly. Frieza turned to the door. "Thank you." Bulma whispered and his hand paused on the door knob. He looked over his shoulder, giving her an expression she couldn't quite place. Finally, he smiled softly at her and nodded. Without more delay, he was gone.

Bulma let out a deep breath. She felt so suddenly drain with all the news and finally, _plans_. She smiled slightly. She was done waiting, now she had something to do, a purpose.

She looked down at herself, seeing that red dress. It seemed like a sudden symbol of everything she hated. They were dressing her up to be what they wanted her to be.

A silent Queen to sire their fucking heirs. That endless anger built up in her, laced with overwhelming disgust. She needed to get out of that dress. With sudden energy she tore it off like a mad woman. She didn't even bother with the zipper, instead ripping at the seams and throwing it on the floor.

In nothing but her undergarments, Bulma felt much more uncomfortable and vulnerable than she expected. She quickly went into the huge walk-in-closet and pulled out some pajamas. Then decided that she'd like a shower first. She stripped her undergarments and grabbed a towel, heading for the bathroom.

She was halfway there when the door suddenly slammed open.

--.....—

Bulma leaned against the window sill, her gaze drifting off the city and into the horizon. The scenery waved in the heat, the sun already high above the clouds. Her mind rolled over the plan, well the gist of it. There were no concrete details yet, or an outlined plan, but she supposed she could start with gaining the Saiyans trust.

She rolled her eyes. It would be difficult. She had an excessive amount of hatred stored up in her core, it threatened to scorch her from the inside. Just seeing their tails set up tension in her brow. Bulma would have to work her way down to indifference, bite her tongue. Which is something she had always had trouble with.

Bulma's eyed went back to the city, watching the figures go along with their lives without a care in the world…

In the end, she thought darkly, she supposed she could hold her tongue if she got to cut out theirs.

--.....—

Vegeta closed the door behind him, sweat dripping off his temples. It was a good thing Kakarrot was so strong or he might have killed him in that sparring session. There was just so much pent up frustration. He made his way to the bathroom, in need of a shower. He was in and out of the shower quickly and went and grabbed a pair of pants out of the closet.

He opted to sleep in one of the Royal Guest rooms tonight. A part of him was annoyed that he didn't want to go into his own room, but he was still angry. He didn't want to face her right now. He didn't know what he'd do. What if he lost control again? Vegeta sunk into the bed, letting out a deep breath.

How did it get like this?

His mind went back to the last time he saw her, before she had hated him, before he had ever hurt her, before the war. It seemed like an eternity ago. Back then whenever they got in a spat, she would just start hurling snow at him, or he would pick her up and toss her into a huge pile of the frosty stuff. It was how they solved everything.

Now she was throwing vases at him and he was throwing her against walls. His heart sunk. It shouldn't have been like that. Like this.

A part of him, a small part of him was trying to understand the intensity of her anger (unfortunately Vegeta wasn't naturally an empathetic person, so this took a lot of effort). Yes, her planet was conquered. Yes, the Saiyans would be using the technology they salvaged. Her pride was wounded. He understood that. But she had to move on. She had to yield to him.

But oddly enough, she seemed to be taking _all_ her anger out on him. Which in Vegeta's mind, was completely uncalled for. The Ningens had asked for the war. The Saiyans responded. While his Father and the other Strategos had been overseeing the battle plans from day one, Vegeta had only personally participated in the final invasion. And only so he could obtain her himself.

Because during the war, he hadn't felt as if anything personal had changed between them. Ultimately, the war was between their Fathers, their people, but not between them.

Through out those five years, he still wanted her. That never changed, his determination never wavered. Actually the longer she was kept from him, the more he craved her. What had once been honest affection melted into a sort of obsession. At one point during the war, Kakarrot had loosely asked Vegeta if perhaps the Princess wouldn't want to marry him. It was then that Vegeta realized that he didn't care if she wanted him or not, _he_ wanted her, and that was what mattered.

In fact, he had always felt that way. Even as a child. He supposed the only difference between now and then was that she hadn't minded the idea of being with him so much. Well, perhaps Vegeta also grew more calloused during the last five years. More explosive, but only when she provoked him. She certainly hadn't pulled crap like that when they were little. Then again, she didn't hate him then either.

Vegeta rubbed his brow to get the tension out. He didn't care if she hated him. He didn't care if she was angry about being married to him. He _didn't_ care. She was his mate, and there was nothing neither of them could do about it.

His mind went back to the night's events. He stared up at the dark ceiling, rolling his eyes in agitation. Just thinking about it made him angry, but before he could get too riled up, he also remembered his murderous rage.

Never in his entire life had he wanted to hurt her like that, the thought of killing her made him sick. The Saiyan instinct in his core told him that was weak, that if she wronged him in such a way, it was the only way to serve justice. Normally, Vegeta never hesitated to kill. But this was different.

It was _Bulma_.

He let out a sigh. On one hand, he was bothered, almost to the point of being distraught, over the fact that he had wanted to kill her. On the other hand, he was torn over feeling so strongly about it. He was a Saiyan. The Prince of Saiyans. He shouldn't have had such conflicting emotions. Especially about such a petty thing as a killing. If she wronged him in such a manner he was in full right of taking her life. He would have been utterly justified.

Then how come he felt so wrong about the very _idea_ of it?

Vegeta tried to think about other examples of such infidelity in Saiyan custom. But the fact was that not many Saiyans took mates in the first place. Infidelity brought on such an intense form of ignominy, it was almost unheard of.

But it happened. For a number of reasons, none of them being acceptable. Often in political marriages between Saiyan families. The bond between two mates was more binding and powerful then any other legal contract. Those marriages always had a higher rate of breaking down, for obvious reasons.

There were ways to salvage them… Vegeta narrowed his eyes in the darkness… Wasn't there? The only one he could think of were both mates lived, was if he killed the one that got between them. In this case it was Frieza.

That very thought lit him on fire all over again. He took some calming breaths, and after a few moments went on. Unfortunately, Vegeta couldn't deal that blow yet. He would kill that lizard. Vegeta swore it. However, what made that death less satisfy was that the Princess had stated that it was _she_ that brought the lizard to their room…

Vegeta's mind ran over her words. He let out a calming breath. Never before tonight did it ever cross Vegeta's mind that the Princess would go to another. Betray him in such a manner. His mind flew back to Kakarrot's deduction.

The very idea of her betraying him, stung him in a way he never experienced before. In a way, he guessed that that instinct to kill her was really just a means of preventing her from betraying him. The fact that he would go to such a drastic measure to prevent it bothered him, almost as much as the fact that he almost did it.

Vegeta let out an annoyed exhale. She made him lose control. It was ridiculous, she did it practically every time they interacted. Even Frieza didn't make him lose control like she did. She shouldn't have had this power over him. She made him show more emotion, she made his body respond in ways no one else did. The fact that he felt like he had little say in the matter, was maddening.

He supposed that was another thing that made him so volatile towards her. It was downright unheard of in Saiyan culture for two people to be bonded, without ever consummating the relationship. Vegeta wasn't goanna lie, a lot of his pent up energy had to do with _that_. As it was, he was pretty sure that problem wouldn't be remedied for awhile.

Vegeta sighed in unbelievable frustration. Tonight he had intended to alleviate all their problems. Make things right. Put up with her nonsense, not lose his temper, attempt to reason with her.

That had been his plan anyway. It had spectacularly gone down in flames. Vegeta shook his head in frustration as his mind kept replaying the memory over it over and over. Never did he envision her as being even remotely involved with any man. Now that he thought about it, it was a rather asinine view.

She was beautiful beyond belief, had elegance and poise befitting a Princess, knew how to maneuver the political landscape, was heiress to the most advance planet in Tokoshimo-- she must have had hundreds of suitors after her from all over the universe!

Vegeta almost sat up in alarm. How come this never occurred to him earlier?!

Well, she had always been owed to him. He would have her. No one else ever even entered the equation, there was no other outcome. Only that the Princess would be in his possession.

And that's what happened. Vegeta relaxed him muscle, tugging at the blanket to get comfortable. The war was just a delay in the inevitable.

He supposed there was some chance that suitors pursued her in those five years, but he couldn't see her accepting any. In fact the idea was already making red ki dance on his flesh. He calmed himself down again with the shake of his head. No, Tokoshimo wouldn't promise her to another anyway, not after they had previously promised her to Vegeta.

No, they wouldn't have the nerve.

--.....--

.To Be Continued.

--.....—

You know what, guys? I think I might have to move this up to mature, mostly because Vegeta keeps manhandling Bulma. I feel really bad for the massive delay. This chapter gave me a ridiculous amount of trouble. The good news is that chapter seven will come out allot sooner.

Also have I properly thanked you people? Let me just say that I immensely grateful for your feedback, and am especially happy that you guys leave nice paragraphs instead of one word reviews. Thanks for all the grammar help too, I feel silly for making all those mistakes, but I'm glad you guys point them out. So thank you so much.

- Mellow Penelo


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